


The Heir of Slytherin

by em1985



Series: In absentia lucis, tenebrae vincunt [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Eventual Draco/Harry Potter in later books, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Neville Longbottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-02 02:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em1985/pseuds/em1985
Summary: During the summer, Neville Longbottom received an ominous visit from a house-elf warning him that if he returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his second year he would be in grave danger.Once the term began, disaster struck. Students were being harmed by a monster said to be controlled by the the "Heir of Slytherin". The real trouble will be finding out who it is before it becomes deadly.





	1. An ominous warning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the non-canon equivalent to Chamber of Secrets. It won't make sense unless you read the first one. 
> 
> This one, as I said in my notes in the first book, "The Chosen One", this book will steer further from canon a bit. 
> 
> Dark themes such as abuse, and minor character death with occur. It will remain Canon-typical violence.
> 
> The entire book will alternate between the POV of Draco and Neville.
> 
> Relationships will happen in later books in the series.
> 
> I will tag more as I go along.
> 
> Some of the text will be lifted as needed for plot purposes but I do not own J.K. Rowling's characters or the masterpiece series she created.

The first part of the summer had been calm in comparison to his rather turbulent first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville and Seamus went back and forth to each other's residence quite a bit. Hermione’s parents hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere that summer. Neville supposed he couldn’t blame them. It was probably more of an adjustment for Muggle parents than anyone else. 

The summer took a turn for the worse a few days before his twelfth birthday because of a rather disastrous visit at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Neville had tried to explain to Gran that Harry hated him but she told him it was “rubbish”. She hadn’t seen the look on his face when Gryffindor won the House Cup. He had his own friends now; he couldn’t fathom why he had to visit.

When he arrived, Sirius and Lupin greeted him as heartily as ever. Mad-Eye Moody acknowledged him with a grunt.

“Who's here?” Harry had said as entered the room. 

He and Gran had floo’d in through the fireplace.

He didn’t hold back a scowl. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Uh—hey Harry.” Neville greeted him.

“Tsk. You should teach the boy better manners.” Gran scolded Sirius. Neville bit back a smile.

“Ah! Oh. Harry be nice.” Sirius gave Gran a distinct ‘are you happy’ look. She was not.

Her lips became a thin straight line as she eyed the lot of them with disapproval. Neville expected her to take him straight home but she didn’t. 

She turned to him, and firmly stated, “Be good.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Neville said automatically.

He stared longingly into the fireplace after she left. He turned to see Sirius, Lupin, and Mad-Eye stare at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“Dumbledore told them what really happened at Hogwarts the past year. What you’re experiencing is blatant fascination for the oh so _special _boy who lived.” Harry dryly spoke in the background.

“Oh Harry, stop. We are curious about what happened. From Neville’s point of view, that is.” Sirius said with almost mischievous enthusiasm.

“Right. I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending that I don’t exist.” Harry tonelessly stated.

He headed off to his room after giving Neville a rather villainous glare. When Neville turned back to the adults in front of him, he decided he would have preferred to risk a hex from Harry.

They sat him down and had him recount the whole traumatizing experience for them. Neville knew that despite being inactive, they were still the Order of the Phoenix at heart. 

Once they were done with what he considered to be an interrogation; he went to find Harry. It did not take him long to find him; he was still in his room. Neville opened the door, knowing full well that he wouldn’t let him in if he knocked.

The first thing he noticed was that his room as a disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere and the drawers of his mahogany dresser were hanging ajar. He had what Neville assumed to be clean clothes draped over the unmade bed. His school trunk was open with half of the contents on the ground. He knew Harry was a slob but he had taken it to another level.

“I refuse to talk to that loathsome traitor who took all of the credit and lost us the House Cup!” Harry shouted angrily as Neville entered, careful not to trip and fall over anything.

Harry paused as he realized it was Neville. He swiftly took out his wand and pointed it at his face.

“We can’t use magic outside of school, Harry.” Neville shakily reminded him.

“I’ll just blame you. Little show off that you are.” He growled out.

“No! You’ve got it all wrong.” Neville had his hands up in automatic surrender. “I didn’t tell anyone outside of the school walls. I didn’t even tell Nan, though given how close she’s been watching me, she must know.” He said.

Harry lowered his wand. “So you didn’t take all of the credit when Dumbledore visited you and fail to tell me?”

“What I told you that day in the hospital wing was all that happened. What Dumbledore did afterwards is not my fault.” He said evenly.

“Dumbledore’s a Gryffindor biased git.” Harry said finally.

Neville had to laugh a bit at that. “Just a bit.” He couldn’t help but agree. “Honestly, I felt horrible about winning when Slytherin had won fair and square. You and I equally saved the day. Even so, the school was none the wiser to most of what happened so it was unfair for it to affect the House Cup.” 

Harry visibly relaxed. “That’s what I have been saying all summer but they’re all wound up over the Chosen One’s showdown with You-Know-Who, your almighty deadly touch and your mum being the protector—” He stopped at the withering look on Neville’s face. “Sorry. I know that is special and your mom died. I just—”

Neville waved his hand at Harry dismissively. “Oh, shut up Harry. You talk too much.” He knew Harry hadn’t meant anything by it. 

Harry perked his brows in surprise and then let out a laugh. “Maybe I am a bad influence on you. The _horrible _Slytherin.” He rubbed his hands together menacingly as he spoke.

Neville chuckled and shook his head slightly. 

Neville cleared part of the floor where they both sat. They were starting a game of Exploding Snap when they heard a pop and a crash behind them. They turned and spotted a house-elf that had Apparated into the dresser and crashed onto the floor.

They gaped at him in utter shock. He had large, bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes. Neville could have sworn he had seen those same eyes in the bushes earlier that week.

“Uhh hello.” Neville got out finally.

“Neville Longbottom!” Exclaimed the house-elf in a high-pitched voice.

“Great. Another fan club member.” Harry muttered darkly.

“Hello to you too, Harry Potter! Master speaks of you often.” He bowed to him. 

Harry stared at him, bewildered.

“Who sent—” Neville paused, wanting to phrase it just right so he didn’t cause a racket punishing himself. “What is your name?” 

“Why are you here?” Harry added not as unkindly as before.

“I am Dobby, sir. Dobby the house-elf.” He started. “I’m here to tell Neville Longbottom—-it is difficult, sir. Dobby wonders where to begin—”

Harry and Neville exchange looks of bewilderment.

“What is it?” Neville pressed.

“Oh, Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously later for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven for this. If they ever knew, sir—”

“Won’t they notice unwarranted punishment?” Harry asked.

“Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They let Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they remind me to do extra punishments.”

Neville gaped at him. He had heard some wizards were unfriendly to their house-elves but the inherent cruelty he described was horrific. He wanted to ask who his master was but he knew better than to ask such questions.

“Why are you here?” Neville asked instead. 

“Dobby has come to protect Neville Longbottom, to warn him, even if he _does _have to shut his ears in the oven later…”

“Get on with it, will you?” Harry cut in.

Dobby narrowed his gaze at him and then turned back to Neville, his large wide eyes fixated on him. 

“Neville Longbottom most not go back to Hogwarts.” He said finally.

He and Harry exchanged shocked looks and then turned to Dobby. 

“Why?” He tried to keep his voice even despite the chill that ran down his spine.

“Neville Longbottom must stay where it is safe. If Neville Longbottom goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”

Harry scuffed. “You’re mental. Who is your master? I think it’s time you go back to them.”

Dobby let out a high-pitched squeak and turned and started to bang his head against the dresser. Neville shot Harry an irritated look as he reached for Dobby to pull him off before he attracted the attention of the whole house. Harry let out an audible sigh as he helped Neville throw him back on the bed.

“Tell us what this is really about.” Neville commanded in an authoritative voice that surprised himself.

The house-elf was shaking like a leaf as he laid on the bed. “There is a plot, Neville Longbottom. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year.” Dobby whispered helplessly. “Dobby has known it for months, sir. Neville Longbottom must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!”

Neville took in what Dobby said before speaking again. “What terrible things? Don’t you think I’m safest at Hogwarts where Dumbledore is?”

Harry let out a “Hah!”, earning a glare from Neville. When his back was turned Dobby started banging his head against the wall. Harry and Neville wordlessly peeled him off the wall and threw him back onto the bed. Harry held Dobby at wand point despite knowing that he was not allowed to use magic. He suspected Dobby knew it as well. The murderous look in Harry’s eyes kept Dobby at bay.

“Stop that. Fine. You’re a house-elf and can’t say anything but why are you here warning him when you can’t say anything useful?” Harry barked.

Neville gaped at him in shock. He seemed different, somehow. Vibes of malevolence rolled off him in waves. Considering what they had faced at the end of the prior year, he supposed it wasn’t entirely unfounded.

_Is it my fault? I didn’t mean for him to get mixed in with my issues or for Dumbledore to favor Gryffindor._

“Sir. Dobby is limited on what he can say, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Dobby had to try anyway. Dobby must protect Neville Longbottom!”

Harry sighed. “You said that.”

“Regardless, with Dumbledore there, Hogwarts is the safest place to be.” Neville insisted, ignoring Harry’s eye roll. 

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But sir—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “There are powers no decent wizard—”

Dobby sucked in a breath and held it until his face was red and blotchy but didn’t otherwise move with Harry there holding him at wand point.

“Enough! It’s fine, Dobby! Stop!” An ache of uneasiness settled in the bottom of his stomach.

Dobby let out hastened breaths and quickly sucked in more oxygen. Neville visibly sighed with relief.

“Will Neville Longbottom stay away from Hogwarts, then?” Dobby asked after he recovered.

Neville furrowed his brows. “No. Hogwarts is where I am supposed to be.” For a moment he contemplated calling for Sirius. _No. He might agree and insist Gran keep me home. _He thought to himself. _Gran would die of shame._

“You leave Dobby no choice.” He said ruefully. 

With a pop, Dobby disapparated from under Harry’s wand and reappeared behind them. They both turned around as Dobby waved Neville’s wand at the wall. His ears rang like bells as he was catapulted onto his backside. Darkness wrapped itself around him like a boa constrictor’s prey and squeezed. 

Neville opened his eyes slowly, coughing and sputtering from the debris around what was Harry’s bedroom. 

Neville’s heard jerked to the side, spotting an unconscious Harry lying next to him. 

“Oh Merlin.” He uttered. 

No sooner had he spoken when three rather frantic wizards burst into the room, wands out.

“Harry!” Sirius rushed to his side quickly.

Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody rushed to Neville and crouched down. 

“Are you alright? What in Merlin’s name happened here?” Lupin questioned.

“Why isn’t the ministry sending a letter about under-aged magic?” Mad-Eye growled out, getting straight to the point.

Neville gulped, unsure what to say. He knew he needed to tell the truth, yet he also feared they would try to keep them home. He couldn’t be cooped up here, especially if something was actually going to happen. He couldn’t just leave everyone in danger. 

He eyed Harry with a worried expression. “Is he OK?” He asked.

“He’s still breathing...but he hit his head rather hard. We have better get you both to St. Mungo’s.” Sirius’ voice was calm but worry weighed on his features.

“What happened here?” Mad-Eye demanded as he picked up Neville’s wand that laid on the ground. “_Prior Incantato!”_

The wand showed a replay of the spell cast. “Now where did you learn the Blasting curse?” Mad-Eye spun on Neville and stared at him with an intensity that caused him to shrink into himself.

“We’ll worry about that later. You and Sirius take them to St. Mungo’s and I’ll repair this wall. Thank Merlin for having the charms up so that Muggles could not spot it.” Lupin said. 

Sirius grabbed hold of Harry while Mad-Eye’s hand gripped onto Neville’s shoulder so they could use Side-Along Apparition to travel to St. Mungo’s.

Upon arrival, Neville nearly vomited from queasiness. Side-Along Apparition always caused Neville severe nausea. He barely remembered being checked in and taken to an exam room. 

Between the flashes of consciousness there were healers, a worried Gran, and grave expressions of Sirius, Mad-Eye Moody, and Lupin. It was surreal. Finally, he drifted into a bottomless, dreamless sleep.

Neville awoke in a small private room that was blindly white. _I do have my own private toilet, though._

He groaned; a dull ache throbbed in the back of his skull. For a few moments, he couldn’t recall how he got there. Then the memories returned with a vengeance. _Harry!_ He threw off the covers and pulled himself to his feet. He was halfway to the exit when his Gran entered.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Neville?” She demanded with a scathing look.

“I—I wanted to see if Harry was OK.” He stammered out. Gran was intimidating when she wanted to be.

“You could have summoned a healer and asked!” She scolded. “Now, return to your bed!” She pointed to it.

He reluctantly slipped back into his bed. Relief that Harry was OK washed over him. Gran sat down on a chair nearby once he was situated in bed. 

“How are you feeling? What happened?” Despite the stern tone, her expression was full of concern.

Neville gulped, wondering how much Harry shared. Neville didn’t want to divulge everything lit. He was terrified that she’d keep him from Hogwarts. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m fine, Gran. There's no need to worry. A house-elf appeared in Harry’s bedroom and told me that I was in danger if I returned to Hogwarts. Then, there was an explosion and we were on the ground. When I woke up, I saw that Harry was unconscious beside me.” He explained.

Gran narrowed her eyes at Neville as though she suspected that he was holding something back. The fact that he had never lied before was in his favor.

“What did the house-elf look like? Did it say why you were in danger?” She questioned.

“I—pointy ears and big eyes…” He furrowed his brows, pretending to be trying hard to remember. “No, he didn’t say how.” He added finally.

She contemplated his words for a moment and sighed. “Do you know who the house-elf’s master is?” She pressed.

“I haven't a clue.” He said honestly. 

She fell into a brief silence then reached out and wrapped him into a tight hug. 

“I’m glad you’re OK.” She said finally.

He hugged her back, immediately feeling guilty for withholding information.

Once he pulled back, he chewed on his lower lip. “Is Harry awake? Does he remember anything?” Neville questioned.

“Yes, he’s awake. I think he took the fall worse than you. He says he doesn’t remember anything.” She furrowed her brows in frustration . 

_I wonder if he doesn’t remember or he’s feigning memory loss. _

“Oh. Well I’m glad he is alright.” He let out a breath he didn’t recall holding.

“I’m glad both of you are alright. You two gave us all a fright. Luckily, The Daily Prophet is and shall remain none the wiser of this incident.” She stated.

“Yes. The less people know the better.” He agreed. 

_Dobby said that his master didn’t know he was there. Why did he go against them just to warn me? What danger could Hogwarts be in now? _His Gran’s voice became distant white noises as he drifted off to sleep, his mind racing with possibilities. 

An Auror from the Ministry of Magic showed up later that day with Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin, and Sirius. He wanted to tell them everything but after how restrictive his summer had been, he feared that Dobby would get his wish not just for him but Harry as well. _Not to mention the fact that I already lied to Gran. _His stomach knotted with guilt. He gave them the same story he told Gran.

He and Harry stayed for two nights before being discharged. Neville took temporary residence at 12 Grimmauld Place. Mad-Eye Moody and Lupin stayed over as well.

The first chance they got Harry and Neville went into his repaired room and shut the door.

“You alright?” Neville asked him with a concerned gaze. 

“Yeah, you?” Harry’s exhausted gaze met Neville‘s eyes. “What did you tell them?” He added quickly.

Neville relayed what he said to them. Harry gaped at him in surprise.

“How very un-Gryffindor of you.” He remarked.

Neville rolled his eyes. “It would have been worse if I had told them everything.” He paused, “What did you say?”

“I’ve been sticking to not remembering anything.” Harry said.

“Probably best.” Neville agreed. He wished he had thought of that.

“What do you think Dobby meant? What danger do you think you--and by extension, everyone else, is in?” Harry mused out loud.

“I haven’t a clue.” 

Silence erupted between the two of them. 

“You owe me a game of Exploding Snap.” Harry said with an uncharacteristically meek smile.

They didn’t want to risk interference so they kept their adventure a secret for the duration of the summer. Harry and Neville celebrated their birthdays together. Ron owled Neville eagerly asking him to visit him at the Burrow but because of what happened with Dobby, he was not allowed to. Neville reassured them that he’d tell them on the train. He knew that they wouldn’t have the time or privacy on Wednesday when they were set to obtain their school supplies. Despite putting on a brave face and acting like it was no big deal, Neville couldn’t help but worry about Dobby’s grave warning. 


	2. Invasive meandering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I posted this it was only part of the chapter. I fixed it. Sorry about that!

Draco’s father glared down at him with an upturned nose, as though there was something foul beneath it.

“Give it here, Draco. Let’s see your marks.” He hissed out. “Such a shame you couldn’t seem to beat out a Mudblood’s score.”

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco. “The teacher’s all have favorites, that Hermione Granger—”

“Enough!” Father snapped. “I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family best you in every exam.”

Draco knew better than to respond.

His father rose from his chair, reached for the collar of Draco’s shirt and pulled him to his feet. 

“Perhaps,” he sneered, “you need some incentive.” 

He let go of Draco, straightened out the collar, and stepped back from him. 

“I’ll make sure you’re on the team this year. I can’t have you sour our namesake by not making the team. I can rebuild your reputation but you must beat the Mudblood’s marks.” Lucius stated smoothly.

Draco raised his brows in surprise. He had expected to see black and blue. 

“Really? How are you going to do that?” 

“I’m going to buy your team brooms. They wouldn’t dare cross me.” He narrowed his gaze at Draco. “You must keep your end of the deal. You will beat that Mudblood’s marks and not consort with that Blood traitor Harry Potter. You sullied our name enough last term but that ends now. Do you understand me?”

Draco’s stomach dropped. It was not surprising that it would come with a price but he was tired of having to sacrifice his friendship for the sake of his father and their namesake. His hesitation must have been obvious because the next thing he knew he was on the ground with a stinging jaw.

“This _isn’t_ optional, Draco.” Lucius hissed. “Now get _up_. Prove to me you aren’t a worthless child.”

Draco wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t a child and that this was not fair but he didn’t. He remained silent; his eyes planted on the ground as he forced himself on his feet.

“Better. Now. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes sir.” Draco stated.

“Good. Now. I understand that you are in the same year as Gregory Goyle, Vincent Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass. These are the sorts you need to associate with. We must arrange something. You will get to know and befriend them, Draco.” 

He was outraged by his father arranging his friendships. He loathed being treated like another business affair he had to deal with. He pushed down the thoughts. 

He merely nodded his head. “Yes, father.”

“Good. Now, go find an educational book to read. I have important things to attend to.”

Draco hesitated for a moment too long. 

“Get. Out.” He spat, his hand balled into a fist and raised his arm.

He scrambled out of the room before his father could touch him. His heart was still thumping as he made his way down the hall, his jaw still hurting from being punched. 

Mother saw him and embraced him in her arms. “Oh, Draco. I wish you would have beat that Mudblood. You know how it angers him so.” She spoke softly, clearly subdued. 

He suspected she had her own hidden bruises. It enraged him that his father would do this to his mother. It was the type of fury that his father always taught him to take out on those who were lesser. He had his whole second year to apply this method. Perhaps it was one thing his father could be proud of.

Draco filled her in on what father promised him if he did what was asked of him. 

She nodded her head dutifully. “Quite right he is about things, even if his execution—” She didn’t dare to finish the sentence. “Your associations are especially important. After all, you will someday marry and reputation is a factor. We are hoping for the Parkinson or Greengrass family.”

Draco scrunched up his face in disgust and his mom let out a rare laugh. 

“Oh, Draco. I know it’s a long way into the future but it is our duty to continue the heir line of purity. We must hold onto our values because if we don’t, who else will? There are so few of us Purebloods left…” she sighed wistfully.

“Wouldn’t want to taint the bloodline with blood traitors and Mudbloods.” He agreed with a slight nod of the head.

The thought of marriage still made him feel queasy.

Mother clasped her hands together in delight. “Such wise understanding for a twelve-year-old!” She cooed. “My special boy.” She hugged him close.

“Mother…” he griped even though he secretly he loved when his mother doted on him.

He spent the rest of the summer with Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and an occasional visit from Daphne. They dressed up for social functions to boost their reputation and allow others to see what an asset they were to the Pureblood society. Draco took care to avoid his father most of the time. His moods swung high and low more than usual. Especially near the end of summer. 

He overheard him one night in his office muttering about the Dark Lord and a Basilisk. He tried to listen by the door but as soon as he stepped closer, his father opened it. 

Father pulled him quickly into his office and threw him to the floor. There was a lecture on privacy somewhere in there but it was lost on him in the patches of black that flashed in front of him as agony radiated through him. He was nearly taken to St. Mungo's.

It was Draco who begged not to be taken to the hospital despite his mother’s insistence. He could not and would not shame his family in such a manner. If he hadn’t taken care to learn how to suppress his emotions, he would have cried. He ran out of tears long ago.

Draco spent the rest of the summer in his room unless he was called upon. It kept him out of his father’s way. As school crept closer, Draco received his letter from Hogwarts as well as a list of new books he’d need for the new year.

_Second-Year students _will require_:_

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 _by Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee _by Gilderoy Lockhart 

_Gadding with Ghouls _by Gilderoy Lockhart 

_Holiday with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart 

_Travels with trolls _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wanderings with Werewolves _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Who is this Gilderoy Lockhart bloke? Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must think highly of him_. He made a note to look into the author. _Father says one must know more about the other person than they do you. _

The first person he recalled his father keeping track of was Longbottom. He remembered asking his father why he was important. He had said that he was the boy who lived, the sole person who had defeated the Dark Lord when he was only an infant. Draco always marveled at such a notion. His father had thought that Longbottom was possibly the next Dark Lord so it was essential that he have the right influences to guide his way.

Draco snorted at this notion now. He was as belligerent as a slug. _He is probably at Harry’s place. _He thought bitterly. Harry had said in an owl that the “Order of the Phoenix” members told Harry they wanted Neville to come over because they were hoping they’d become friends. Harry saw through them immediately. He knew that they just wanted to protect the _oh so special one _from the big bad world. 

He hated Longbottom for being able to hang with Harry while he could not. It was not fair that he was beaten when he was caught writing to Harry. He uncurled his fists. _Control yourself. Repress. Compartmentalize. Numb it all._

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he pushed it all away. He had to focus on finding out who Lockhart was. After some research, he found himself wishing he hadn’t ventured. Lockhart appeared to be more of a peacock than someone who was well-versed with fighting dark magic. 

Draco quickly told his father that Lockhart was a joke and couldn’t imagine the sort of professor would use his books as a textbook.

His father nodded his head. “They have to be better than Quirrell. I heard quite a few disturbing rumours about that.” He narrowed his gaze at Draco. “Do you know what happened?” 

Draco perked up at the notion that he knew something important that his father did not. He remembered his conversation with Harry and frowned. He knew what he said was true but how could he keep it from his father? He was expected to uphold their family name and values.

“Longbottom went down with the Mudblood, and Finnigan to go after Quirrell. It turned out that the Dark Lord had been consuming unicorn blood and was on the back of Quirrell’s head. Longbottom went in alone and somehow defeated him. Quirrell was left to die by the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is out there, weakened but not dead.” He thought it was complete enough that his father would be pleased without revealing Harry’s involvement. He would most certainly be blamed if it involved him.

It almost appeared his father was smiling at him. “Good, Draco. I suspect your source was a good one?” 

Inwardly, Draco’s stomach dropped. _He already knew. He was testing him. Did he know about Harry too?_

“Yes sir.” Draco asked, inwardly gulping.

His father loomed over him menacingly. “Yet somehow you failed to recover information regarding Harry Potter’s involvement?” He spat out his name venomously.

“I--I” Draco began.

“_Silencio!” _Father interrupted; his wand pointed directly at Draco. “I suppose you have already forgotten our reminder. Senseless to make me punish you when I was going to get you a present when we got your school supplies. “_Everte Statum _!”

Draco stumbled backwards; a sharp pain shot through his body. He fell onto the ground, his eyes wide as he stared at his father in fear. He had never thrown a spell at him before.

“Listen here, Draco. From now on, you will keep nothing from me. I want to know everything, especially if it pertains to the Dark Lord. That being said, you keep your head down. Don’t bother Longbottom. Do not talk to Potter. It is essential you consort with the _right _sorts and keep your nose out of trouble.” He spat at him. “Nod your head if you understand me.”

He nodded his head quickly, his heart pounding out of his chest. Father had such a terrible smile on his face that Draco had to wonder if he was up to something.

“Now. Perhaps if you behave you will get that present when we go to Diagon Alley for your school supplies.” His father said in a softer tone. “_Finite. _” He watched Draco steadily, “Now tell me the rest.” He demanded.

Draco stood to his feet quickly. He momentarily forgot his concerns in lieu of the prospect of a present, and the looming fear of the consequences of he kept quiet. He told him everything he knew. Father looked impressed by his knowledge. 

“The reason I know anything is because I befriended Potter.” Father had to understand the benefit of befriending someone close to Longbottom. He might not be a dark wizard but he had defeated the greatest one in history twice.

Father seemed to consider his. “Interesting.” He said. “Yes. Keep an eye on him, then. Let him in but tell me all matters of import.” He emphasized as though he expected something to occur. 

“Yes sir.” Draco said immediately. 

He hated the notion of being a spy on his friend but if it allowed him to be friends with him then he would take the opportunity and run with it.

“Good. My patience is running thin. Do not disappoint me.” 

Father left the room post haste. He spent the majority of the evening there. This time Draco didn’t dare to try to spy.

He owled Harry immediately to tell him the good news. Infuriatingly he didn't respond for several days despite informing him that they were allowed to be friends. 

When he did bother to respond he was strangely vague about it. He said he’ll tell him about it in person. They arranged to shop for school supplies the following Wednesday. After checking with his father, he owled back that he was going to join him. He wasn’t sure if it meant Neville was tagging along but he didn’t ask. His father could not say no if Draco was none the wiser.

On Wednesday Draco Side-Along Apparated with his father. Upon their arrival he realized they were not in Diagon Alley. Draco wordlessly followed his father into Borgin and Burke’s. Upon reaching the counter his father rang the bell for service. 

Draco was reaching for the glass eye when his father turned to him and whispered harshly, “Touch nothing, Draco.”

“I thought you were going to buy me a present.”

“Yes. I am getting you a broom for the team I will make sure that you join.” He said stiffly.

Malfoy sulked. He had hoped his present was going to be from this shop. A stooping man appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair from his face.

“Mr. Malfoy, What a pleasure to see you again,” said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. “Delighted. And young Master Malfoy, too—charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and reasonably priced—”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling.” Father informed him.

Draco was already bored. He drowned out the rest of the conversation. Everyone knew about the Ministry’s raids. It was a horrible, unfortunate affair, especially for those who were previously associated with the Dark Lord. His father did all he could to clear their name, going as far as telling Draco to call the Dark Lord You-Know-Know in mixed company. His father assured him that the Malfoy name still commanded respect but hastened that it only went so far. 

“There are rumours of a new Muggle Protection Act. No doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it.” Father was saying.

Draco felt a hot surge of anger. _Weasleys. _He hated those Muggle lovers.

“Ron Weasley follows Longbottom like some kind of leech trying to get close to him. What a loser.” He sneered. “Longbottom thinks he’s so special he allows him and that Irish Gryffindor lick his feet. He even befriended that Mudblood, Granger—”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already.” His father sent a quelling look toward Draco. “And I would remind you that it is not—-prudent to not appear less than fond of Neville Longbottom, not when he is regarded as a hero who fought the Dark Lord twice and defeated him.”

“Yes sir.” Draco apathetically replied.

He lost interest once the conversation geared back to selling their dark objects to Mr. Borgin. He walked around the shop, looking for something to buy. He was hoping that his father was bluffing and would buy him a gift, after all.

He saw an unfortunate, withered hand on a cushion. He picked it up and eyed it with fascination.

“Can I have this?” He asked, unaware of the conversation Mr. Borgin and his father were having.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers. Your son has fine taste, sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” Father said coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant—”

“Though if his grades don’t pick up that may indeed be all he is fit for.” Father icily stated.

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco. “It’s like I told you, the teachers all favour that Mudblood, Granger!”

“Stop making excuses. It’s a disgrace that a Mudblood pulled ahead of you when her family has no magic to speak of!” Father snapped. “Let’s hope you keep your end of the bargain.”

Draco’s wordlessly stared at the ground, both abased and furious.

“It’s the same all over,” said Mr. Borgin, in his grating oily voice. “Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—”

Father’s nostrils flared. “Not with me.”

“No, sir, nor with me, sir,” said Mr. Borgin with a deep bow.

Draco barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _What a leech. _

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” Father said shortly. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today…”

When they started to haggle, Draco moved away, glancing around, intrigued by the variety of items on display. His father’s words resonated in his like a weight that pulled at him. It threatened to anchor him down. He forced it out of his mind as he examined a long coil of hangman’s rope. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a magnificent necklace of opals. He marveled at its elegance. He smirked as he read the card below it. _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed—Has claimed the lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date _.

“Serves them right.” He muttered to himself. “Filthy, stupid Muggles.”

As he turned away, he spotted a cabinet. Longing to have his curiosity sated, he grabbed the handle to open it. His face fell when he realized it was just a dark cabinet. _There has to be more to it… _

“Come, Draco!” Father barked, causing him to jump and nearly slam the door roughly. 

Father turned back to Mr. Borgin. “Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.”

They finally exited the shop and headed for Diagon Alley. Draco scowled. _So much for an interesting gift. _He thought irritably.

As they stood in front of Flourish and Blotts, Draco took out his schoolbook list.

Inside it was mayhem. It was crowded to the point of suffocation. Loud chatter echoed in the air. 

“Maybe we should come back later.” Draco said as he glanced around, looking for Harry. They were supposed to meet up there. _No chance to have a private conversation here _. He thought as he recalled Harry wanting to tell him something.

It fell on deaf ears as his father set eyes on the Weasel lot. Draco was in no mood for them so he turned to seek out his books in the madness. He was quickly distracted by cheering and high-pitched screeches. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice boomed over the sound. Draco perked a brow as he glanced over at him. He recognized him as that peacock author, Lockhart. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. He was about to wander off when he spotted Longbottom next to him.

_Of course. What is a publicity stunt without Longbottom? _He thought bitterly. _It’s not fair. I’m the one who’s special. Not that blithering idiot! I’m a Malfoy! A name that comes with prestige and commands respect. A Pureblood royalty. Where is my attentive audience? _

He had daggers in his eyes as he watched the buffoon author speak with Longbottom at his side.

"When young Neville here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge.” The idiots in the crowd cheered. “He had _no idea _that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me _. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Draco gaped in horror. _He has got to be joking. Dumbledore is incompetent but he couldn’t possibly be this thick! _

Meanwhile, the crowd of blithering prats clapped and cheered. Lockhart presented Longbottom with all of his works. Draco’s nostrils flared in anger as he pushed to the crowd to the git as he handed a ginger girl his books.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Longbottom?” He sneered as he got close enough to meet face to face with him. “_ Famous _Neville Longbottom. Can’t even go into a _bookshop _without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone! He didn’t want all that!” The ginger girl retorted as she glared at him.

_A leech like Weasel himself. She must be another Weasley. _He thought to himself.

“Longbottom, you’ve got yourself a _girlfriend _.” He drawled out. Weaselette went scarlet as he spotted Weasel, the Mudblood, Finnigan and Harry approach. 

Draco raised a brow in surprise upon seeing Harry with them. Harry merely smirked at him. “Malfoy.” He spat out with feigned spite.

“Potter.” He returned just as venomously, trying hard not to laugh. 

Harry approached him, seemingly nonplussed by the growing tension between him and the other lot. 

“It’s mental here, isn’t it?” He remarked.

“Quite. Between Longbottom and his fan club and that peacock Lockhart, I am feeling rather ill.” Draco responded.

“It is_ disgusting _.” Harry agreed with an edge to his voice Draco hadn’t expected.

“Oh shut it, both of you.” Weasel spat out, eyeing Draco like he was something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe.

“Ah, is that your sister, Weasel? I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month trying to pay for all of those.”

Weasel went as red as his sister. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward him. Draco smirked as Hermione and Seamus grabbed his jacket.

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasel, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, Well. Arthur Weasley.” His father drawled out.

Draco sneered as his father put his hand on him as he stood beside him, eyeing the blood traitor with contempt.

“Lucius.” Mr. Weasel dared to speak to him.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. I hope they are paying you overtime?” His father sneered.

He reached into Weaselette's cauldron and extracted a battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. _

“Obviously not.” His father said with obvious disgust. “Dear me, what’s the point of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

The disgraceful man turned a darker shade of scarlet than both of his mongrel children.

"We have a different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.” He spat out.

“Clearly.” His father's eyes strayed to two obvious Muggles that came up behind their Mudblood daughter. “The company you keep, Weasley. And I thought you could go no lower.”

Draco snickered as he glanced at Harry, his face falling at his rigid stance and the fists curled at his side as he glared at his father. He elbowed him hard in the arm.

“What is your problem? He just started to let me associate with you.” Draco hissed in a low tone only he could hear.

Harry shook himself out of it, blinking as he glanced back at him. He opened his mouth but the sound was caught in his throat as they heard a crash. Mr. Weasel had thrown himself at his father and knocked him into a bookcase. Dozens of heavy spell books fell on both of their heads. Two more wizards came out of nowhere. They looked vaguely familiar. 

One had medium length dark hair and fair skin. The other wizard had rather disgraceful, ratty robes and greying light brown hair. _He looks like they found him on a street somewhere and took him in like a stray. _Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. The two wizards crowded around Longbottom and pulled him out of the shop. _Yes, can’t let the precious ‘Chosen One’ get hurt. _He snorted. 

He turned back to the fight, trying his hardest not to burst out laughing as mother Weasel shrieked like a banshee at the sight.

"Gentlemen, please!” The assistant cried out.

His father had clocked Mr. Weasel in the mouth and the jaw but the other has retaliated with a hit in the eye. Both spotted various bruises from rogue books falling off the shelves.

A wizard with a wooden leg, a magical artificial eye, and a large chunk taken out of his nose approached and peeled them off of each other.

Father thrust two books at Weaselette, one of them was the battered Transfiguration book and the other wasn’t one he recognized.

“Here, girl. Take your book. It’s the best your father can give you.” He pulled himself from the mad looking bloke and beckoned him.

Draco frowned; sad it was over. He reluctantly followed after him, pausing only to see Harry a bit torn. “Harry, are you coming or not?” He asked impatiently.

“Ah, you’re Harry. I dare say, he came in with this lot, he can leave with them.”

Harry dared to narrow his gaze at father. “It wasn’t my choice, sir. My guardian has kept me close and Longbottom brought the fan club.”

Draco expected his father to go off the handle on him but he didn’t. His lips curled into a bemused smirk. “Full of Fire, aren’t you? Yes. I dare say you haven’t much of a choice. Well. Be aware of who the right sorts are.” He advised him. “Come, Draco, you will see Harry Potter on the train.”

Draco couldn’t help but smirk despite himself. _He said he could see him later _! He thought excitedly.

“See you later, then Potter.” He said to him.

“Later, Malfoy.” He said with an unreadable look on his face.

Draco raised his brows with a questioning look but was quickly distracted by his father stopping to speak to a bloke from the _Daily Prophet _to see if he’d put the fight into his report. He smirked, pleased by the thought of making the Weasel family look bad as he followed his departing father, paying little heed to anything else.

Despite the mishap, his father bought him his broom and shipped the rest of them to Hogwarts. They went back to obtain his books, robes, and other supplies before leaving. He never did see Harry again that day.

The end of the summer came quickly and they soon arrived at King's Cross Station. His mother hugged him tightly. His father gave him a curt nod of the head and hiss in the ear to “remember and heed his words”. Once departing from his parents, he pushed his trolley through the wall and boarded the Hogwarts Express. He settled in a compartment shared with Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle. 

Draco animatedly retold their eventful visit to Flourish and Blotts to Crabbe and Goyle. Draco barely able to keep himself from falling out of his seat when Harry joined in and did a brilliant imitation of the twit, Weaselette, who followed around Longbottom like a lost puppy. _It’s going to be a good year. _Draco thought to himself as the train made its way to Hogwarts.


	3. The journey back to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild homophobia is present. Keep in mind that this takes place in the 90's. Most kids were left in the dark about homosexuality.

When they arrived at King's Cross, Neville had the distinct unsettling feeling that he was being watched. He glanced up at the adults accompanying him and Harry. Gran and Sirius stood on either side of them as they followed Sirius and Lupin who remained a few paces in front of them. Mad-Eye Moody lingered behind them, no doubt on high alert. They received the “constant vigilance!” speech before they left. None of the adults seemed to be alarmed currently by anything.

Neville glanced at Harry wondering if he felt it too. His expression was stoic, unreadable. He decided he was just being paranoid. Once they reached the wall that they had to go through to reach Platform 9 ¾, they halted. 

“Right then. Lupin and I will go in first. Then Neville and Harry. Alastor and Augusta last.” Sirius explained. 

Neville and Harry exchanged agitated glances. 

“We don’t need all of you to go in. We are not babies and we are not in trouble. We haven’t had any trouble after that one incident.” Harry spoke up first.

“You almost died, Harry.” Sirius said, exasperated.

Neville’s gaze met Gran’s immediately. Her face had turned sheet white. Gran had been told in horrifying detail about the prior year by Sirius. He sent her a sympathetic look. He hated that he caused her to worry about him so much.

“Yeah. Just like last year.” Harry shrugged it off. 

Neville’s turned to Harry, his eyes widening at his nonchalance about their near-death experience. Neville was agitated by the extra security too but he also knew it was for his own good. The warning and the attack on their lives was terrifying to say the least. _Why warn us and then try to kill us? _He found himself wondering for the umpteenth time. 

“...respect for life!” Sirius scolded.

Neville sighed, his eyes wandering to the clock, the conversations around him becoming white noise. It was nearly time to board. 

He saw something small skitter past quickly and then heard a pop. He blinked rapidly as he tried to recall what the figure looked like. It was there and gone in an instant. He glanced at the others but they were still arguing with Harry, who was acting downright insolent.

“We are going to miss the train.” He found himself saying louder than he expected.

They hushed and turned to him in surprise. 

“Right. Yes. Well. Here we go.” Sirius stated. 

Harry scowled at them, having lost the fight. He turned to glare at Neville as though he expected him to do something. As annoying as their fussing was; sometimes it was better to humour the adults than argue.

Sirius and Lupin clasped hands and made their way toward the solid wall. They disappeared in an instant.

“Do you need your hand held?” Neville teased with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, Longbottom.” Harry growled out.

Neville chuckled lightly. “Only trying to lighten the mood.”

“Stop your gabbing and walk through the blasted thing.” Mad-Eye interrupted.

Harry and Neville pushed their trolleys forward and made it safely through the wall. A few moments later Mad-Eye and Gran followed.

Neville turned to Gran and smiled. “Bye, Gran.” 

“You be careful now. If _anything _out of the ordinary happens, owl me immediately.” Nan said as she pulled him into a tight hug.

“I will.” He reassured her.

“...keep an eye on him.” Neville heard the tail end of a conversation between him, Sirius, and Lupin. 

His face turned hot. _Why does everyone think I’m incapable of taking care of myself? I defeated Voldemort twice! _His hands clenched into fists as he gritted his teeth. 

Gran frowned at him. “Neville. Are you alright?” Neville blinked, unfolding his fists quickly. 

“Oh, right. Yes of course, Gran.” 

“OK.” She didn’t sound convinced. “If you need anything, _anything _at all, owl me.” She gave him a squeeze and let go, stepping back.

Despite Harry’s belligerent behavior, Neville was relieved to see him hug Sirius and Lupin. Lupin had moved in permanently by the end of the summer. 

Mad-Eye stood nearby leering at people with suspicious glances. He was certain Lupin and Sirius was thankful that Mad-Eye was not sticking around after they got on the train.

“Be good, the boy who lived.” Sirius jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Yes. Do try to behave this year.” Lupin said with a sly smile that suggested he didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Yes sirs.” Neville said, shaking their hands in turn. 

“Remember, constant vigilance!” Mad-Eye said from a distance.

“Right. We are going to miss it.” Harry grunted irritably, though he still gave a hearty wave to Sirius and Lupin before boarding. 

“OK, see you soon! Don’t worry so much.” Neville reassured them.

Sirius grabbed his arm as he turned and whispered, “Watch him. Please. We are worried. Report anything amiss, please.” 

Neville cocked a brow as he nodded. “Will do, sir.” 

Sirius let go of him and stepped back Neville sent a final wave went to get on the train. Once aboard he glanced around for his friends or an empty compartment. 

He found an empty one and sat by the window. He watched as Sirius and Lupin shared a snog before Disapparating. Gran waited a few and then followed suit. Mad-Eye’s gaze seemed to linger for a long enough time that Neville wondered if he saw something. A few moments later he Disapparated too. _Maybe not._

“Neville! Why are you staring out the window like that?” 

Neville jumped at the voice and turned his head. Ron, Hermione, and Seamus was watching him with concern.

“Just people watching.” He said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Well anyway, hey mate.” Ron said as he sat across from him in the compartment. 

“What's the story, Neville! Did you see those two blokes snogging out there?” Seamus cut in as he scooted in next to him. 

“Seamus, that’s hardly polite.” Hermione scolded with a frown.

“Oi, seriously? Are they still there?” Ron asked, leaning over Neville to look.

Neville and Hermione exchanged looks of agitation.

“Me mam says that it’s wrong to be a poof.” Seamus added. 

Ron sat back, frowning when he didn’t see anything. 

“It’s not wrong. It’s as natural as any other couple.” Neville spoke up defensively.

Seamus’ brows shot up. “Oi, mate. No need to get worked up about it.” He paused, “Are you a poof?” He asked Neville a bit nervously.

Neville turned red at the question. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure how you know. Maybe there is a spell or potion that reveals it.” 

“What sort of spell or potion would do that?” Ron exclaimed, bewildered. “Anyway, if I’m a poof I don’t want to know.” He said.

“Me either.” Seamus agreed.

Hermione let out a laugh. “You three are idiots. There isn’t a test. It’s something you just are, whether it’s two men or two women together. It’s not wrong or unnatural. You were born that way. Honestly, don’t you ever read?”

They gaped at her a moment. 

“Oh. That makes sense.” Neville said after a moment. “It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“Are you mad? Snogging another bloke? Two birds kissing? That’s gross!” Ron exclaimed with wide eyes, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Do you want to snog girls, Hermione?”

Hermione had daggers in her eyes as she glared at Ron. He turned slightly ashen under her gaze.

“Shut it. The couple you saw was probably Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.” Neville snapped angrily. “If you don’t like it then don’t snog any blokes!”

Seamus and Ron exchanged shocked glances but remained quiet. Hermione raised a brow at Neville but he ignored it. 

“So, why couldn’t you come to the Burrow with me this summer?” Seamus asked after a notable silence.

Neville leaned forward, lowering his voice as he went into the ordeal in full, not leaving out any details this time.

Hermione gasped when he got to the part about the explosion. Seamus stared at him in shock. Ron’s jaw dropped so low; Neville was certain it’d fall off. 

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed loudly.

“Shhh. Anyway, Harry claimed he hadn’t remembered anything.”

“You should have been completely honest, Neville.” Hermione said after a moment. “What if you’re really in danger?”

“Hogwarts is the safest place to be, then.” Neville replied.

“After last year and the chancers we got mixed up in? They really made a bags of it with the Philosopher’s Stone.” Seamus countered.

“Dumbledore would have never allowed anything to happen to us.” Hermione insisted. “You’re in much more danger if you don’t tell!”

Neville shook his head, “After everything they would not allow me to go back.”

They couldn’t argue that point.

“Do you really think there is danger at Hogwarts this year?” Ron asked tentatively.

“I don’t know.” Neville said with furrowed brows.

“We need to find out who owns the house-elf.” Hermione said after a few moments.

“Dobby said that he was disobeying his master in coming there, though.” Neville stated.

“Exactly. But maybe Dobby’s master knew something or was involved. How else would Dobby find out?” Hermione pointed out.

“Plus, didn’t Dobby try to kill you? Maybe he lied to you and it was his master who sent him.” Seamus said.

Ron frowned. “Maybe it was Malfoy playing a cruel trick. I mean, other than You-Know-You what other enemies do we have?”

“But why would Malfoy tell Dobby to kill me? He’s a git but I doubt he’s a killer. Besides, he’s friends with Harry and had to have known he’d be there, especially since Dobby popped in at Grimmauld Place.” Neville furrowed his brows thoughtfully. 

“I doubt it matters to that git.” Ron grumbled.

Neville was not so sure about that but he couldn’t argue a point without all of the facts. “Until we find out more, we should just be careful.” 

Soon Ron and Seamus started going on about Quidditch, leaving Neville with his thoughts. _Could Malfoy be so evil? Am I in danger? _It left an unsettling feeling in his belly.

They changed into their robes as the train became close to reaching their destination. When they arrived at the school, they started to clear off the train. His other friends had already left the compartment when he tripped over something solid and fell to the ground. Hermione turned around; she was closest to him. 

“Are you alright?” She asked him.

Neville flushed beat red. “I’m fine. I’ll be there in a moment” 

He was relieved when she left. He groaned in pain as he got to his feet. He was heading down the empty corridor when his knees snapped, he fell over, his body paralyzed. He immediately recognized it as the full body curse.

He felt a cloak drape over him. All he could do was blink in confusion as Dobby appeared in front of him. _Is this Harry’s invisibility cloak? How did he get it? _It was impossible to believe that Harry would have something to do with it. He almost died at the hand of the other attack. Neville tried to open his mouth to speak but couldn’t. 

“Dobby warned you not to return to Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom. Dobby must protect Neville Longbottom for his own good.”

A familiar voice was heard from a distance and then a pop as Dobby Disapparated. Neville tried open his mouth again to no avail. The voice was no longer speaking but he could hear the footsteps coming closer. 

Neville’s eyes widened, agony radiating through him as a foot collided with his head and then fell on top of him. Harry let out a terrified scream upon impact. 

“What the—” He exclaimed as he scrambled off of Neville’s paralyzed form. 

Harry ripped the invisibility cloak off of him. “Neville? But why—how?” 

He was interrupted by the lurch of the train starting to move. 

“They’re going to take us back to London!” He exclaimed.

Inside Neville’s head he was screaming. Outwardly his eyes were bugging out of his head. Harry turned toward the door as though contemplating bailing. He muttered darkly to himself as he glanced at Neville. He furrowed his brows as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Neville.

“_Finite Incantatem_!” 

Neville immediately was able to move again. “Thanks, Harry.” His head pounded like a drum and his body ached all over. 

“You’re lucky I studied the textbooks early.” He grumbled. “Now get up, idiot. The train is moving.” 

Neville scrambled to his feet quickly and pulled his own wand out in case Dobby returned. They made their way toward the front of the train.

“What did happen?” Harry asked as they made their way forward.

“Dobby was trying to prevent me from going to Hogwarts again. He stunned me and threw the invisibility cloak over me.” He explained.

“Which was the whole reason why I came back.” Harry shook his head as he stopped at one of the doorways.

“What are we doing? We need to go to the conductor and tell them to go back!” Neville stated with growing alarm.

“And what, let everyone know something happened? They probably will send us home! We just need to get off of this train.” Harry countered.

Neville had to admit that he had a point. They stood at one of the exits, staring out it. The train had barely left so it was still going rather slow but it was quickly gaining speed. 

When Harry pulled on the door it would not open. “It’s locked!” He exclaimed. “_Alohamora_!”

Nothing happened. 

Neville scanned around, trying to find some sort of instructions for an emergency. He did not find any.

“_Incantatem!” _Harry shouted. The door slid open and they could hear the sound of the train against the tracks. 

“We have to jump!” Harry shouted at him. 

“Are you mad? We’ll probably die!” Neville exclaimed, rather alarmed by his recklessness.

After a brief pause, Neville shouted, “Dumbledore did the spell _Arresto Momentum _when you fell off your broom during Quidditch. You jump and I’ll cast it on you and then I’ll jump and you cast it on me so that we slow down impact!

“As good a plan as any!” Harry yelled. “Ready? Go!” He added and jumped out of the train before Neville could say another word.

He gaped after him, frozen in shock for a second before wielding his wand toward Harry. “_Arresto Momentum!”_

Harry immediately slowed down and slid onto the ground slowly.

Neville sighed in relief that it worked. He turned to glance behind him. He heard the alarm and the sound of the door closing on him.

Realizing that the door was going to close on him, he took a deep breath and put all of his energy and momentum to jump.

He couldn’t hear Harry say the spell but time slowed as soon as Neville exited the train. It felt like he was floating toward the ground instead of hurling towards it at top speed. It was like he was truly suspended in time for several moments. Finally, he landed. The impact was still a bit painful but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. _That could have been horrific._ He realized far too late. He didn’t realize until then that he truly trusted Harry with his life.

“Ow.” He groaned loudly as he laid there, not hastening to move.

“Oh get up you git.” Harry said after the train passed them by. 

Neville forced himself onto his feet and rubbed his head. “They didn’t even stop.” He remarked, bewildered.

“Probably figured it was a glitch. After all, no one else was on it.” Harry said with flushed cheeks and an exhilarated smile.

“Mental.” Neville remarked as he stared at Harry, bewildered by his sudden glee.

“Mm. Well we got to walk back.” Harry said, ignoring the look on Neville’s face.

“Are you OK? Hurt?” Neville couldn’t help but wonder if he was befuddled by a hit to the head.

“I hurt like hell you prat. I tripped over your fat head and then jumped out of a train.” Harry hissed at him in annoyance. 

Neville was secretly relieved by the response. 

“How far do you think we are from Hogwarts now?” Neville mused out loud.

“A couple of kilometers at least. Probably more like five…” he trailed off. 

_I don’t think we properly thought this through. _Neville chewed on his lower lip. 

“We should have found someone to help us.” Neville said quietly. “We should go back to the station and owl someone. We are going to be late anyway!” 

“You’re probably right.” He gritted his teeth. “You Gryffindors are a bad influence on me.” 

Neville rolled his eyes. “Yet I am more sensible than you.” 

Harry shot him a glare. “Get walking...git.”

They began the walk back to Platform 9 ¾. _I wish I had my owl. _He thought to himself. 

“How did you know that door opening spell?” Neville asked after a few minutes of silence. 

“I heard Sirius say it one day when he was opening the door for Lupin.” He smirked.

“That is sweet.” Neville remarked with a smile. 

“Shut it.” Harry growled, though he was still smiling. 

They wordlessly continued to walk slowly toward the train station.

Harry broke the silence that had settled between them.

“Once we get there, we need a story.” He said. “We should tell them that you had forgotten something and I decided to go with you, thinking I forgot something myself. Draco can vouch for me. Then you tripped and fell, knocking yourself unconscious. I helped you but by the time you were sorted the train started moving. Then we jumped out of the train and walked back to the train station to contact them, in which we will.” 

“You think we should tell them we jumped from the train? Are you mad?” 

Harry glared at him. “We can’t say we contacted the staff on the train. They will check into it and realize we are lying anyway. The important thing is that they don’t realize Dobby was the reason we were almost sent back to London.”

Neville contemplated this for a moment and then nodded his head. “Cunning as always.” He smirked a bit.

“That’s why I’m a Slytherin and you’re a Gryffindork.” He snickered.

“As though our houses define our entire personalities.” Neville retorted.

Harry furrowed his brows, letting out a humph in response. They went silent, trying to conserve energy as they continued their trek. 

Finally, the station was in view. Neville’s head felt like it was going to explode. Neither of them knew a healing spell to use. 

Once they arrived, they breathlessly looked around for staff. A short, portly, woman with long wavy fiery red hair approached them, her emerald green eyes widened in surprise.

“What are you doin’ here? I dinnae think you ought to be wanderin’ about alone.” Her accent was distinctly Scottish. 

Neville took a deep breath but Harry had already begun talking. He told the story exactly the way they discussed before. 

She shook her head at them when Harry finished. “And you dinnae think to find a staff member?”

Neville and Harry glanced at each other and shrugged a bit sheepishly. It was a bit mad in retrospect.

She tsked with her tongue and went to get an owl to send a message to Hogwarts. It dawned on Neville that they were probably in huge trouble. Judging by the expression in Harry’s face; he was thinking the same thing.

They waited in sullen silence for someone to come get them. They were hoping for Hagrid but that was squashed with a pop when they spotted Professor Snape of all people Apparate in.

“So. Wanted to make an entrance, did you?” He drawled. 

“No, sir, we—”

“I was informed of the tale. No need to repeat it.” Snape cut Neville off quickly. 

“How are we getting to Hogwarts?” Harry asked as they followed him. 

They waved to the red-haired woman as they left. 

“I will Apparate us to Hogsmeade and then we will be traveling by Thestrals.” He said shortly.

“What are those? Neville asked curiously.

“Hold on.” He put a hand on each of their shoulders and Apparated without answering the question.

They landed outside of what looked like a place full of shops. Neville nearly vomited as he wavered in place. He hated Side-Along Apparition. Nonetheless, when the other two started to walk, he followed.

They approached what appeared to be a stagecoach. He glanced around for something that would pull them along but nothing was there. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What is going to pull us along?” Harry vocalized. 

“I will answer this one question and then there will be silence, do you understand?” He stared them down one by one.

“Yes sir.” Neville and Harry spoke in unison.

“They are a breed of winged horse that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death.” Snape answered finally.

Neville squinted at them as though somehow, they would come into focus but they never did. He couldn’t see a thing. They boarded the stagecoach and Snape shut the door. The coach smelled faintly of mold and straw. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a long trip.

The coach set off, bumping and swaying in procession. Ten minutes later they arrived at the castle. The castle gleamed in front of them in all of its magical splendor. He smiled, lost in the moment. Harry’s rough punch in the arm quickly brought him back to reality. 

Once inside, Snape led them down the corridor. Neville could smell the delicious food as it wafted in from the Great Hall. They were led away from it down to the dungeons where Snape’s office resided.

“Sit.” He demanded.

They sat in the two green chairs in front of his desk. 

“As much as I would like to expel you both; it seems it does not only rest on my shoulders. You will wait here.”

He left the office with a swoop of his robes. Harry and Neville exchanged nervous glances. _What if, after everything, we get expelled? _Waves of nerves and terror rolled through him. 

When Snape returned, a stern-faced McGonagall stood beside him.

“Explain.” She said to the two of them.

Harry once again launched into the story as they had planned it. Neville had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either he had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry before.

“You didn’t think to seek out one of the staff on the train? Instead you opened a train door and jumped out!” She paused, “How did you get the door open when it was clearly locked? How did you jump out of the train without being seriously injured?” She cast them both a scrutinizing look.

When Harry explained it, McGonagall’s brows raised into her hairline. Even Snape looked shocked by it. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were both impressed by it. Perhaps that would be their saving grace, like with the troll.

“As impressive as it is that you managed to open the door to the train and jump off without anything more than minor injuries; you still violated rules. If you had not been so near the train station when you performed magic you would have received warnings from the Ministry of Magic. Not only that but what you did was risky and dangerous. You should have gone to a staff member of the train immediately.”

Neville shrank in his chair, ashamed. Now that he thought of it; they would have gotten away with it if they had used the same story with them. There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Neville inwardly groaned, shrinking further in his chair. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his crooked nose at them, remaining quiet for several moments.

“Since you are in differing houses and your offense was quite severe; I will be the one to determine your fate.” He paused ominously. “You will both receive detentions. Expulsion seems far too severe for my taste. I don’t wish to start the year this way. Whether points will be taken, is up Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. I must go back to the feast, now. I’ve got to give out a few notices.” Dumbledore strode out of the office as quickly as he came.

McGonagall spoke up first. “I will not be taking any points at this time but I will be watching you, Longbottom.” She said with a glance so stern he withered under it.

Snape glared at Harry with fiery hatred. “No. I won’t be taking any points. No use making the rest of my House suffer for one student’s stupidity.” He drawled out.

Harry looked instantly relieved. 

“Very well then. Both of you should see Madam Pomfrey to make sure that you are alright. You both look a little worse for wear.”

“What about the feast? I’m hungry.” Harry interjected. 

“The feast is over. Go on, then.” She waved them off.

They didn’t hesitate to get up from their chairs and scurry out of her office. Neville was distinctly aware of Snape’s venomous gaze fixated on him as they left.

“That was close.” Harry whispered as they reached the corridors.

“Too close.” Neville remarked, still feeling jittery.

“I’m going to sneak to the kitchen for food.” He smirked.

Neville gaped at him, “What? But Harry, McGonagall just said--”

“No one will see me.” He pulled out his invisibility cloak and disappeared under it. “See ya loser!” He called out.

Shaking his head slightly, Neville skipped a trip to Madam Pomfrey, not too keen on another lecture. He headed up to the Gryffindor tower. He didn’t know the new year’s password, so he lingered. It wasn’t long before he heard scurrying feet behind him. He turned to see Hermione and Seamus dashing toward him.

“Neville! _There_ you are! Where have you been? You missed the Sorting!” Hermione exclaimed.

“We heard you and Harry Potter jumped the train but we assumed they were just taking the mick out of us.” Seamus added.

“Well…” Neville said.

“Are you serious? You two _did _jump off the train?” said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

“I just want to sleep.” Neville felt ashamed enough as it is. “What is the password?”

“It’s Wattlebird but Neville I--”

Her words were cut short as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked like the whole of Gryffindor House was awake.

“Brilliant! Brilliant!” George said as he and Fred approached them. 

“Why didn’t we think of that?” Inserted Fred.

Neville turned several shades red as he was congratulated by the Gryffindors that filled the circular common room. They stood on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs. 

“You are bloody brilliant. Since you are here, I reckon they didn’t expel you. Why didn’t you tell me you two were planning that?” Ron was rambling once he cut through to the front.

“I didn’t--we didn’t plan it.” Neville quietly stated, overwhelmed by it all.

“We all snuck up food anyway. You have got to tell us about it.” Fred said, ignoring Neville’s hesitance.

Neville gulped. He wished Harry was there to tell it for him. He had allowed him to tell it before.

“Come _on_, Neville. Tell us! We’re dyin’ to know!” Ron exclaimed. 

He ran a hand through his short dark hair and sighed. “Give me some food and I’ll tell you what happened.” He promised.

_Looks like I’ll have to be brave one more time today. _He thought to himself, resolving to satisfy their curiosity with the story he and Harry concocted earlier.


	4. The foul betrayals.

Shortly after exiting the train, Draco felt a strange sense of foreboding wash over him. 

“I can’t find my invisibility cloak. It must have fallen out of my robes.” Harry has whispered to him quietly. 

He boarded the train before Draco could answer. 

“I’ve forgotten something.” He explained with a sheepish grin to the train staff members. 

Draco watched for a moment and then started to walk with the rest of the students. The oaf ushered the first years with him to the boats. _They’re so small. It seems impossible that we were ever that tiny._ He thought to himself.

Now that they were in their second year; they traveled with the rest of the students. Once they walked a bit he glanced around. He didn’t see Harry among the other students. _Where is he?_

It was Deja vu. He rubbed his temples irritably. _I am not his bloody keeper._ He could have sworn he felt a wrinkle on his face. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was the cause. _No way am I aging prematurely because of that bloody Gryffindor wannabe. _He resolved to not worry so much. 

At least a hundred carriages were waiting for them. He was struck by the fact that there wasn’t anything to pull said carriages. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odor that filled his nostrils. It was what he imagined a servant’s quarters smelled like. He would never visit where the House-elves resided for that very reason. He and Pansy exchanged apprehensive glances. 

The carriage, which appeared to operate on its own, trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates. The carriage picked up speed once they passed the gates and trudged up the long, sloping path toward the castle.

Draco let out a sigh of relief when they reached their destination; the stench of perceived poverty was overwhelming. 

“Where’s your boyfriend, Potter?” Blaise asked with a mischievous grin. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, you git. He’s probably with the Gryffindors. Perhaps, since you are so keen on keeping track of him, you should go ask them.” Draco retorted as he started to walk ahead of them, silently fuming. _Bloody moron. _He thought to himself.

The rest of the evening was a blur of events. Despite his earlier resolve to not worry about the git; he couldn’t seem to help himself. It didn’t help that there were ridiculous rumours that he jumped out of the Hogwarts Express, with Neville, of all people. As absurd as it was; it was also a plausible explanation, knowing them.

Shortly before the Start-of-Term feast ended; the rumours were confirmed. An energetic buzz filled the Great Hall. They sounded like a hoard of hungry wasps waiting to strike. Everyone spoke at once as their Prefect, whose name he already had forgotten, led them to the dungeon, where their dormitories were.

“Pureblood.” The Prefect said. 

They entered the familiar common room and he felt an overwhelming sense of comfort. He glanced at his fellow housemates. A few of them had brought up food. _Why didn’t I think of that? _He thought absently. He yawned lazily as he plopped down on the couch. He wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep until he was jerked from his slumber by loud cheering. He groaned as he rubbed his eyes, agitated by their excessive noise. _Twats. _

He turned his head and spotted Harry, looking a bit worse for wear but as arrogant as ever. Harry met his gaze after a few moments. 

“Git.” He mouthed at Harry with a smirk.

Draco distinctly saw the word “Prat” form on his lips. He turned away, not about to seem like some eager puppy who jumped eagerly at his beck and call. He listened with interest as Harry relayed the story to the rest of the house. His voice echoed in the room as everyone listened intently. It was quite a contrast from how he was treated the prior year.

He furrowed his brows when he spoke about the Thestrals. _So that was what pulled the carriages. _It was quite morbid for a school but he supposed be shouldn't be surprised given what was kept in the school last year.

His brows raised past his hairline at the minimal punishment. _The boy who lived can be useful, then. _He stared into the fire, something unsettling bubbled in his belly. He wished he had been in on the adventure and not Longbottom. Of course, he would have had the sense to go to staff members right away. _Gryffindors are bad influences. _He had decided.

Finally, the leeches left Harry alone to his lemon treacle tarts and headed up to their dormitories. No one seemed to notice Draco sitting on the couch. For once, he didn’t mind being invisible. Harry meandered to the couch and sat down beside him. 

“Malfoy.” He sneered.

“Potter.” Draco automatically returned with a smirk. “Heard you let a Gryffindor pull you into one of their mad hijinks.” He added.

“You have no bloody idea.” Harry said it in such a way that he straightened up in his seat and turned toward him.

“What do you mean?” He asked tentatively.

“Well, there is more to the story.” He stated.

As Harry divulged into what happened, starting with earlier that summer, his mind fixated on the fact that it was his house-elf, Dobby, that was responsible for this. _Do I tell him that he’s my house-elf? What did this mean? What is going on? _His mind was racing.

_No. I must tell father first. _He couldn’t take the chance that there was more to this than what Harry knew. Besides, Dobby clearly tried to kill Longbottom. If it got out and they connected his family to such a crime; the Malfoy name would be ruined. He had to owl his father as soon as possible.

He felt a pang of guilt. _What if he tries again and Harry ended up hurt in the crossfire again? _He pushed down said emotions. _All the more reason to get to the bottom of it at once._

“I’m glad you are alright.” He said once Harry finished.

The other lad sent him a pointed look and he rolled his eyes. “Maybe Longbottom too. Who would we torment?” He smirked.

Harry grinned but it appeared drawn and forced. Another pang twisted in his belly. He wondered if he ate something wrong. 

“I’m going to bed now.” Harry cut through the uncomfortable silence that settled between them.

“Go ahead then. Don’t need my permission.” Draco retorted.

Harry stared at him with an unreadable expression and then headed off to bed. 

Once he was certain he was gone, Draco sat at the table and grabbed a parchment and a spare quill that was lying there to write his father a message.

_Father,_

_I have urgent, disturbing news to tell you but it cannot be said over owl. Can we meet?_

_Draco_

He sneaked out of the common room and made his way to the owlery to send it. He sighed in relief once he watched the common barn owl fly out into the sky. He felt better already. He managed to return to his dormitory without getting caught. The next day at breakfast, Ulysses, Draco’s owl, brought him a message back from his father.

_Meet me at 3 P.M. in Severus Snape’s office on Saturday. _

_I have business to attend to at Hogwarts._

Draco frowned at it_. _He was certain he’d burst into flames with anticipation and worry before that point. Not only was his house-elf bent on the destruction of Longbottom, but he was going to ruin the Malfoy name. _What if the blasted servant took out Harry in the process? _He shuddered at the thought.

A distinctive roar momentarily distracted him from his own troubles. He turned around, searching for the source of the sound that carried throughout the Great Hall, shaking the dust from the ceilings.

“**\---JUMPED OFF THE TRAIN WITH THAT HEATHEN HARRY POTTER! HOW DARE YOU RISK YOUR LIFE LIKE THAT? YOU SHOULD HAVE CONTACTED STAFF RIGHT AWAY! YOU BOTH COULD HAVE DIED**!”

The woman’s shrill cries echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. Longbottom sank in his seat, his face crimson. Draco would have thought it was hilarious if she hadn’t spoken about Harry in such a way. _What right does she have? Does she think her precious Longbottom is so much better than him? Why? Because he’s a Gryffindor and the boy who lived? What a bunch of rubbish. They call us the snobs._

**“_\----_WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? YOU HAVE DISGRACED OUR ENTIRE FAMILY! WHEN WILL YOU LIVE UP TO YOUR NAME AS THE BOY WHO LIVED? I AM APPALLED WITH YOU AND YOUR ANTICS! YOU BOTH COULD HAVE DIED**!”

Draco started to snicker once she started berating Longbottom. _Well deserved, you dolt._ As far as he was concerned it was his fault that it happened. Both incidents were meant for Longbottom yet somehow, he had sucked Harry into the madness.

“**\---IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE SIGHT STRAIGHT BACK HOME**.”

The entire Slytherin table, who were snickering alongside Draco, sans Harry, burst into a roaring fit of laughter. It was hilarious. 

“One step out of line!” He called out loudly, causing those at his table to laugh harder. 

When a ringing silence fell, the red envelope, that Neville had dropped on to the ground, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Eventually their laughter died down and people started chattering again.

Professor Snape came around and handed them their timetables. He glanced over it and saw that they had Charms first. As he read over the rest of his schedule, Draco felt eyes on him and turned, his brows furrowing at the way Harry glared at him.

“Why are you such a git?” He growled out.

“Me? Longbottom is the one that got put you in that situation.” Draco retorted.

“It wasn’t his fault.” Harry insisted.

“Fine. Stick up for the prat.” Draco stood to his feet quickly, and stalked out of the Great Hall, ignoring the fact that the room had hushed again. _Let them talk. _He thought bitterly.

He was too angry to pay attention to Professor Flick in Charms. His mind was still fixated on Harry and his betrayal. _Why would he stick up for that prat? Did they become close friends over the summer? _He was seething at the possibilities by the time the lesson ended.

Herbology quickly distracted him from his thoughts. Draco wrinkling his nose at the ugly plants they were going to have to work with as soon as they reached the greenhouse. Professor Sprout was a squat little witch with the ugliest hat that hid her horribly unkempt hair. She was covered in dirt from digging in the dirt all day. _Disgusting. She does realize she can use magic to clean up, right? _Twenty pairs of different coloured earmuffs were lying on a bench.

“Everyone grab a pair of earmuffs and find a spot around the table!” Professor Sprout announced.

He gagged loudly at the smell of the damp earth, fertilizer and the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling.

“Today we’ll be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

Draco rolled his eyes as he watched half of the Ravenclaw’s hands go up. _It’s going to be a long day._

After class ended, he was certain that the small, muddy, hideous baby Mandrakes was going to haunt his dreams forever. 

The final class of the day was Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall seemed to have it out for Slytherins. _She always watches us closely with her nose upturned_ _as though we are something disgusting. _All of the professors favoured the Gryffindors and seemed a bit wary of Slytherins but none of them were as obvious as Professor McGonagall. It was disgusting. _No wonder the bloody Gryffindors won the House Cup last year even though we had already won it fair and square._

Professor McGonagall’s classes was always hard work but that day was particularly difficult. They had to turn a beetle into a button. Pansy was a natural and able to get it by the end of the class. His beetle jumped around the table, avoiding his wand. He was relieved to see that Harry’s beetle was doing much of the same. 

Crabbe and Goyle managed to squash theirs twice and had to get new ones. Professor McGonagall was not amused. Blaise, like Pansy, was able to transform his beetle into a button. Theo’s was the most disturbing. He managed to transform his beetle only partially into a button. _It looks deranged like his soul_. Draco had thought to himself.

He was relieved when class was over. He went straight to the library to study, further ignoring the annoying presence of Potter and his irritating attempt to speak to him. _Why on earth would I want to do that?_

By Dinner time, rumours had spread about Gryffindor’s disastrous Defense Against the Dark Arts class that was taught by the buffoon, Lockhart. He was more of a menace than a professor. Potter made more attempts to talk to him but he had no interest in such a thing. He studied in the far corner of the library and then went to bed, not feeling like speaking to anyone.

He was relieved when the week was over. As promised, he was a part of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He replaced some lesser Chaser without trying out. Potter had tried out for Seeker and made it on the team as well. Since they were new additions to the team; Snape had given them special permission to practice on Saturday on the field. 

When they arrived, Gryffindors were already using it. Their belligerent captain met them on the field.

“Flint!” He bellowed. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Flint smirked, calm despite the other bloke’s excessive yelling. “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.” 

“But I booked the field!” Wood flailed around like the Whomping Willow branches when it attacked its innocent victims.

“Ah.” Flint said Coolly. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. “_I Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Chaser and Seeker.” _He read off.

“You’ve got a new Seeker and a new Chaser?” He asked incredulously.

Draco couldn’t help but smirk as he came forward in front of them. Potter followed close behind. 

“That’d be us. He’s the new Seeker and I’m the new Chaser.” He bragged with a smug smile.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” One of the Weasel twins sneered.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” Flint smirked. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

They all held out their broomsticks, revealing that they were the latest model broom, _Nimbus Two Thousand and One. _The words gleamed under their inferior noses.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month.” Flint continued. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps” he smiled nastily at Fred and George’s old brooms, “sweeps the board with them.”

The Gryffindors gaped at them stupidly. Draco smiled widely at the losers, finding satisfaction in their misery.

“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”

The Mudblood, Weasel, and Finnigan crosses the field toward them.

“What’s going on?” Weasel asked. “Why aren’t you practicing? What are _they _doing here?” He pointed to Draco and Harry.

“I’m the new Chaser and he’s the new Seeker.” He smugly stated. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father bought for the team.”

Weasel and Finnigan gaped at the brooms as Draco snickered, elated by their reactions.

“Good, aren’t they?” He smoothly stated. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. I’m sure a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter. 

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way on._ They _got on with actual talent.” Her eyes flickered to Potter. “Not you. I know _you _are quite amazing.”

Draco seethed not only at her insult toward him but the open praise to Potter, insinuating he was better than him.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.” He spat.

There was an instant uproar on the field. Flint had to dive in front of Draco to stop Fred and George jumping on him, one of the other Gryffindors shouted, _“how dare you!”, _and Potter stood with his eyes narrowed and his mouth gaping open.

Weasel and Finnigan pulled their wands out of their robes, ready to strike. Wild sparks came out of Finnigan’s wand and he blasted backwards into the ground. His hair and robes were considerably singed.

There was a pause and then Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team burst into laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his broomstick for support. Draco finally lost all sense of balance and ended up on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.

The Gryffindors hovered around the prat to make sure he was OK. They were still cracking up as they watched the lot of them leave with the loser. Potter furiously shook his head, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

“Why don’t we stop wasting time and start practicing?” He growled out. 

Flint stopped laughing and glared at him furiously. Potter stepped forward, challenging Flint in a way that made Draco’s eyes bulge out. _Has he gone barking mad? _

“Watch yourself. Wouldn’t want an accident to happen like last year.” Flint spat out. 

Potter twitched slightly but didn’t back down. “Do you want to beat them or not?” He growled back. 

Flint glared at him a few more moments and then barked at them to get on the field and start practicing. Draco eyed Potter incredulously. _What has gotten into him?_

Practice was difficult but he and Potter managed to prove their worthiness. Draco thought so, anyway. 

It was nearing seven when he made his way toward Professor Snape’s office to meet his father. He practiced what he was going to say carefully. It was imperative that he got it right.

He knocked on the door of Snape’s office.

“Come in.” Snape said in an oily tone.

Draco walked inside, relieved to see that his father was already there. 

“I’ll be back soon.” Snape said and excused himself. 

Draco shut the door behind him, closing his eyes momentarily, silently gulping. He was terrified of being alone with his father. He forced a stoic expression and turned to face him. 

“Hello Father.” He said evenly.

“Draco.” He drawled out. “What _is _this about?” 

He tried not to wither under his father’s scrutinizing gaze as he told his father what Potter had said to him. For a moment, his father’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Just as quickly he returned to the same distant, cold expression he always sported.

Uncomfortable silence formed between them for an excruciatingly long moment. 

“Well. Punishment will be handed out accordingly.” Father said simply.

_That’s it? Where’s my praise? Or a simple thank you? _

Setting his frustration aside, he asked, “What does Dobby know?” 

“That...is not your concern, Draco. Concentrate on your studies and Quidditch. Keep your head down. Do not openly be less than friendly to Longbottom. He is considered the savior who took down the Dark Lord, after all.”

Draco let out an exasperated sigh. “But father—”

“Furthermore” He cut him off, “Stay away from Potter. He is too close. Remember that there are eyes everywhere, Draco.” 

He remained still, despite the feeling of defeat washing over him. He watched his father with a keen eye. _He knows something._

“Do tell me if you hear anything else.” His father cut through the silence of the office.

“Yes father.” Draco said automatically.

Father gave him a cold smile and stopped when they were shoulder to shoulder. He brought his hand roughly down on it and squeezed. Draco froze in agony, the man’s firm grip and long fingernails digging into him. 

He bent down slightly and whispered in his ear. “_Don’t _disappoint me, Draco. Would hate for you to suddenly have to be pulled from the Quidditch team.” He spat.

His eyes widened in horror. _He wouldn’t do that, would he? _He inwardly shuddered at the thought. He remained as still as a statue, waiting for it to be over. Finally, his father let go of him and strode out the door without another word. 

Draco let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He held back tears as Snape entered.

“Everything alright?” He asked. If Draco didn’t know any better, he would have thought he sounded concerned.

He forced his emotions to the pit of his stomach. “Quite.” He said distantly.

“Very well. You are dismissed.” Snape was studying him closer than Draco would have liked. 

He headed to his dorm to grabbed books and headed to the library to study. Potter tried to talk to him in the common room but he ignored him. At this point he didn’t care about their stupid fight. It was one thing to be upset with him but another to not be able to be friends with him. He would have forgiven him eventually. He had just wanted to make him squirm a bit. 

Potter, the persistent git that he was, caught up with him and pulled him into the nearest classroom. 

“What is your problem?” Potter growled out as he pushed him aggressively toward one of the desks. 

Draco sputtered in surprise at his aggressive nature. 

“Well?” He growled as he closed the distance between them.

“Sod off, Mudblood lover.” Draco spat finally despite the terror churning in his belly. Potter was shorter than him and a bit scrawny but he could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

Potter took a step back and then swung his fist at Draco’s face. Pain radiated from his left cheek. He drove and upper hook toward Potter’s jaw, his knuckles exploding in agony upon impact. 

_Holy Salazar that hurt! _Potter took advantage of the moment and grabbed Draco by the shoulders and threw him down on the ground. The impact sent waves of agony through his body. Next thing he knew, Potter was straddling him, his fists flying at his face over and over again. Pockets of darkness engulfed him.

Draco let out a battle cry of someone who endured a summer of being beat and threatened by his father only to be forced to stay away from his best friend. Potter momentarily stopped, his eyes widening shock by the agony in his outburst. Draco used the opportunity to gain an upper hand by rolling his body over, straddling the other lad as his fists hurled into him repeatedly, only seeing red.

He snapped out of it as a pair of hands pulled him off of Potter. He hadn’t realized he was yelling until that moment.

“Get off! Get off me!” He violently tried to escape their grasp. 

His head swirled and he stopped, breathless. He glanced around blindly; his eyes were nearly swollen shut. The hands kept a steady hold of him. He realized the hands could belong to one of the professors. A few bruises from Potter would be the least of his worries. _I could get expelled for this!_ He inwardly shuddered at the punishment that would await him once home.

He glanced at them through his limited vision. He let out a rasping laugh. It was Longbottom and Finnigan. 

“He’s gone in the head!” Finnigan exclaimed.

“Let me go.” Draco growled. “Stay out of my way!”

“Don’t give me any of your guff.” Finnigan was annoyingly persistent. 

“I thought you were friends.” Longbottom was eerily calm. It was the words that hit Draco hardest. 

He stopped struggling. “You thought wrong.” He forced out, inwardly cringing at the break in his voice.

His ears rang through the silence. _Did he box my ears?_

“OK. We are going to let you go and you are going to leave and see Madam Pomfrey because you’re a mess.” He hated the condescension in his voice.

“Is that a good idea?” He heard Finnigan whisper.

He couldn’t hear the answer for some reason. The next thing he knew he was freed. He considered running after Potter again but he didn’t. He glanced between Longbottom and Finnigan, taking in the contained rage in their expressions and thought better of it. 

He turned toward Potter and spat blood from his mouth. “Suppose the Gryffindors get to have you after all.” 

He pushed past the two lads and headed for the door. He could have sworn he saw pity in Longbottom’s expression. _Don't need his pathetic pity. Stupid bloody Gryffindors. _

He lumbered toward the hospital wing. He told Pomfrey he fell off of his broom. He could tell by her expression that she didn’t believe him but he didn’t care anymore. He thought he heard Potter but everything felt fuzzy. He welcomed the embrace into darkness.


	5. Friends, foes, and the mysterious voice.

Neville was not surprised he had received a Howler from Gran. What he had not expected was how deep it cut him. He was used to what she said in the Howler but the fact that everyone knew that not even Gran believed in him killed his confidence. After the wretched thing had shriveled into ashes, he stared at the table, crestfallen. 

He wished he could have turned invisible or even better, disappeared. Nothing he ever did was good enough and his Gran was grand at reminding him of it. He knew she meant well and did it out of love but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Now that everyone knew the truth, he did not know how he was going to face them.

He was momentarily distracted by shouting at the Slytherin table. To his surprise it was Draco and Harry. His eyes bugged out of his head when he realized that Harry was sticking up for him against Draco. He was the last person he’d think would defend him.

The rest of the Slytherin table gaped at Draco as he left, their shock was written all over their faces. Their awe-struck gaze turned into the fire of a dragon as they eyed Harry with a mix of disgust and hatred. Harry stood up with a stirring fury that irked Neville to his core. Judging by their expressions; he was not alone. 

“I don’t give a shit about what you lot think about me. Don’t you get how stupid this all is? Who cares? It doesn’t bloody matter in the end! None of it does!” He exclaimed loudly and then stormed out of the Great Hall.

Neville turned back to those at his table, gobsmacked by the turn of events. He wasn’t sure which shocked him more; the way he stood up for him, or the choice words he used.

“He’s gone bloody mental.” Ron remarked.

“Aye, it’s grand. It’s about time he told those eejits off!” Seamus interjected.

“I think it’s good he stuck up for Neville but his anger is sort of...concerning.” Hermione sensibly chimed in.

Neville thought that all three of them made a valid point. The dark cloud that seemed to hover Harry appeared to be increasing in size as time passed. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him but he intended on finding out. Unfortunately, they didn’t share any classes until they had double Potions on Friday. Silence filled the rest of their meal. No one dared to bring up the Howler. 

They made their way down to the greenhouses for their Herbology lesson. 

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” Professor Sprout exclaimed cheerfully.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only worked in greenhouse one before. Greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Neville couldn’t wait to see what they were going to be exploring. Herbology, by far, was his favourite subject.

He smiled as he caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer. For some reason, it comforted him. He was about to follow his friends inside when a hand shot out.

“Neville! I’ve been wanting a word--you don’t mind if he’s a few minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowling lips, she did mind but Lockhart said, “That’s the ticket,” and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

“Neville Longbottom.” He shook his head slightly. “When I heard--well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself.”

Neville stared at him with a rather bewildered expression. He had no idea what he was on about.

“Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Jumping out of a moving train! Well, of course, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile.”

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn’t talking.

“Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I?” said Lockhart. “Gave you the _bug. _You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn’t wait to do it again.”

Neville outwardly groaned. He paid such little heed to The Daily Prophet that he hadn’t realized he was in it. The Daily Prophet had been posting rubbish about him since he was a baby. He preferred to pretend it didn’t exist.

Lockhart misconstrued his reaction entirely. “Oh, Neville. No need to be embarrassed. Only those with the keenest of senses would have picked up your intent.” He said with a reproachful shake of the head. “I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you’ve had that first taste. I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head. See here, young man, you can’t pull stunts like that to try and get noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you’re older. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” He glanced at the lightning scar on Neville’s forehead. “I know, I know, it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have but it’s a start, Neville, it’s a start.”

He sent Neville a hearty wink and strode off. He stood stunned for several moments before remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse. He opened the door and slid inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench. Neville took his place between Seamus and Hermione as Professor Sprout spoke.

“We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

Both his hand and Hermione’s hand shot up automatically. He smiled when Professor Sprout called on him first.

“Not a toe out of line, Longbottom!” Someone called out. Laughter trickled throughout the greenhouse. 

“Shut it!” Ron barked at them. 

Seamus sent Neville a sympathetic look. “Don’t listen to those eejits. Bloody jealous of you, they are.” He reassured him.

Their voices sounded far away. Neville winced as though in pain. As he stood frozen in place, colour drained from his face, and sweat formed on his brows. He could no longer remember the answer. Professor Sprout frowned and called on Hermione. 

She took one look at Neville and hesitated for a moment before spouting the answer as though she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.” She let out a relieved sigh.

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?” 

Neville didn't even bother to raise his hand this time. He slumped where he stood, once again wishing to disappear.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it.” He heard Hermione say.

“Precisely. Gryffindors get another ten points.” Said Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.” 

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward to get a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. Neville had read about them, of course, but to see them in person, was remarkable. They didn’t look like they were anything special but if they dug deep enough, they would see that there was more to them than what meets the eye. He felt like this was something he could relate to on a personal level.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs.” Said Professor Sprout.

Neville grabbed the first ones he saw. 

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you a thumbs-up. Right--earmuffs on.”

He put the earmuffs over his ears, taking care to make sure they were completely covered. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants and pulled hard. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was bawling at the top of his lungs, although Neville couldn’t hear it.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in the dark, damp, compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them a thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet. However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up. 

“Four to a tray. Here is a large supply of pots here, compost in the sacks over there, and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to the fascinating spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Neville, alongside Seamus, Ron, and Hermine scrunched together over a tray. He had a feeling they were going to try to make him feel better so he quickly put his earmuffs back on, thankful for the silence. He could feel their eyes on him but he ignored it. 

Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth but they didn’t want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Neville was nearly sent sprawling to the ground several times at first. By the end of the class, however, he managed to realize that they liked when one gave their head a bit of a pat. It was a bit of an accident. 

Neville had been so frustrated that he gave one of them a tap on the head. The mandrake’s face scrunched up in confusion and then started to cry again. Neville did it again, but a bit gentler. The softer pat proved to be effective because the Mandrake started smiling. If he could hear him; he imagined he was purring like a kitten. The other three gaped at him in surprise when he wordlessly showed them what he had done. They quickly mirrored his gestures, as they had grown tired of fighting their Mandrake. Hermione looked sour at first, probably because she had not thought of it first. Eventually she sent him a proud smile. He couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride.

He went to get Professor Sprout and demonstrated what he had done. She clapped and gave him a thumbs up. It was still not safe to take off their earmuffs. She scurried away, trying without success to get the attention of the rest of the class. It wasn’t until the Mandrakes were successfully planted; they were able to take off their earmuffs. It was then that she informed them of Neville’s discovery, awarding him fifteen points for Gryffindor!

His good mood carried out through the rest of their morning classes. After lunch, they went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione began to read _Voyages with Vampires_, while he dove into one of his many Herbology books. He was vaguely aware of Ron and Seamus going on about Quidditch. 

Pandemonium was the only way to explain the final class of the day. Lockhart foolheartedly released Cornish Pixies into the classroom and somehow, he ended up swinging from the chandelier on the ceiling. Lockhart did something akin to a spell, but nothing happened. Lockhart narrowly escaped being crushed as Neville fell onto the ground after the chandelier gave way. The bell rang and he, Ron, Seamus, and Hermione were left to finish gathering the cheeky creatures. Lockhart claimed he wanted to give them a “hands-on lesson” but Neville took him for what he was, a fraud.

For the next few days his other classmates didn’t hesitate to make fun of him for ending up on the ceiling fan. Neville often hid in the library and studied with Hermione. 

He wanted to try to catch Harry after Potions on Friday but he rushed out before he could get his full name out. Neville let out an elongated sigh and trudged out of the cold, dank dungeon. _At least it’s Friday._ He thought to himself.

On Saturday, he was in the common room studying when Seamus, Hermione, and Ron loudly stepped through the portrait. Hermione looked like she had been crying, Seamus looked like he blew something up again, and Ron appeared to be in quite a strop.

“What’s wrong?” Neville asked with his brows raised.

They wordlessly joined him on the couch. As they explained what happened, his eyes bugged out of his head. _The nerve! _He balled his hands into a fist, ready to throw caution in the wind, find Malfoy, and punch him in the face. 

He took one look at Hermione’s head shaking in response and relaxed his shoulders, uncurling his fists.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” He said instead. 

“Then it got weird.” Ron was saying.

He explained how Harry stood up to his own house in Hermione’s honour. Neville’s mouth gaped open.

“Wow.” He murmured in disbelief.

He put it in the back of his mind as he glanced at Hermione. “You know Malfoy is just a jealous git with no actual talent, right? He’s mad that he’s unable to top your marks. Pureblood elitists like him are horrifically inbred so he’s probably brain damaged too.” He reassured her, adding a bit of a cheeky grin at the end.

“I know.” She sniffled and then let out a laugh. “Oh, Neville.” She shook her head at him slightly with a bemused smile.

Neville smiled back and her and then glanced at Ron and Seamus. He hoped he did alright. He wasn’t sure how to deal with this sort of thing.

“You’re lucky it backfired; you know. You would have been in trouble if you had cursed him, Seamus.” She scolded him after a few uncomfortable moments of silence. Neville smirked to himself. _She’s going to be just fine._

Later that evening he, Ron, and Seamus heard shouting as they made their way to meet Hermione at the library. What they saw was nothing short of shocking. Malfoy was pinned under Harry, who was swinging his fists heavily at the other bloke. Neville exchanged bewildered looks with Seamus and Ron. They had thought they were friends, after all. Although, Harry had been standing against Malfoy since the start of the year but Neville had figured that friends simply disagreed sometimes.

Once they managed to pull Harry, who was in a state of disturbing, blind rage, off of Malfoy they allowed the white-blond haired lad to exit the classroom. Despite breaking up the fight, Neville had not forgotten what he had said to Hermione earlier that day. His vision blurred as the temptation to run after him and pummel him into the ground became an overwhelming buzz that radiated through his body. Regardless of his current, pathetic state, the tears that rolled down Hermione’s cheeks after he had called her a Mudblood remained fresh in his mind. 

Neville put it out of his mind for now. Harry needed him more. They kept a hold of Harry long after Malfoy left. Finally, they let go and Harry shook them off, trying to silently make his way to the door, despite being bloodied up and bruising quickly. Ron and Seamus quickly zipped over to the door, blocking the exit. Neville turned to them with a grateful expression. 

“Harry—” Neville started as he glanced at Harry.

“Get out of my way.” He growled at them as he pushed hard against Neville’s shoulder toward the other two blocking the exit.

“Harry, stop. What happened?” Neville kept his voice soft, uncertain of Harry’s temper. His outbursts were starting to scare him.

“Shut up! I don’t need your stupid Gryffindor help! Can’t you wannabe heroes let things be?” He spat.

His words stung but Neville knew he had to hold his ground. Seamus and Ron appeared like they were going to let him go. Neville turned their way and shook his head.

“You heard him; he doesn’t want our help. Let him go kill Malfoy. Doing us a favor, really.” Ron vocalized. 

Neville held back the urge to punch him in the nose. “Are you really that thick?” He snapped.

Seamus glowered at Harry wordlessly. Though Neville could have sworn there was a hint of worry and fear beneath it. There was far more to Seamus than he let on.

“Well? You heard _Weasel_. Let me go.” Harry spat.

“No. Not until you calm down.” He told himself it was for his own good but truthfully, he was stalling. He was uncertain what to do with the unstable lad.

“Why were you fighting?” Neville pressed, his gaze on Harry’s back.

He let out a hiss through his teeth as he turned toward Neville. “Who cares? The prat had it coming.” 

Neville noticed his entire body was shaking as he wavered in place. He pivoted his body so he was facing Harry just as he seemed to lose his footing and fell into Neville’s arms. Muffled sobs pressed into his shoulder. He glanced behind Harry at Ron and Seamus; his eyes wide with terror. He was helpless in the presence of the release of repressed emotions.

They shrugged at him unhelpfully, just as clueless as he was. Neville wrapped his arms around Harry properly and rubbed his back with one of his hands like Gran did when he was upset. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

Harry relaxed into his arms with surprising ease. They slipped into uneasy silence as they listened to Harry sob uncontrollably into Neville’s arms. _Merlin. _He thought. He wondered how long he had been holding this in. 

After what seemed like ages, Harry finally calmed down and peeled himself off of Neville. He was still swaying in place, but he managed to remain standing. The puffiness under his eyes from crying amplified his bloody and bruised face. 

“If you tell anyone about this,” he croaked out, “I swear to Salazar I will murder you.

Neville broke out into an absurd grin, despite the gaping stares from his two mates. “Wouldn’t expect any less.” He replied.

Harry managed to smile despite his damaged face. Seamus and Ron started at them like they were mental. _Maybe we are. After what we’ve been through; who could blame us?_

“Come on, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey. You look awful.” Neville informed him.

“Still better than your face.” He retorted.

Neville let out a snort. “Seems you are also delirious. I’m the chosen one, remember?” He teased. 

“It’s a mystery how you are able to stand with an ego bigger than your body.” Harry retorted.

Ron and Seamus looked like they were about to pounce until Neville started to laugh. 

“Oh, shut your gob and get your face mended already.” 

Surprisingly, Harry didn’t object, not even when Neville put his arm around him.

“I got this. Go on ahead.” He knew Harry would loathe entering the hospital wing with several Gryffindors in tow.

They exchanged confused glances and then headed out the door without another word. Neville let out a sigh of relief. 

“OK, let’s go.” Neville spoke breathlessly. 

He led him up to the hospital wing where Malfoy laid sleeping in one of the beds. He glanced over at Harry, who stared at him with a stricken look on his face. When Madam Pomfrey asked what happened, Harry drew his eyes away from him onto her.

“Quidditch collision.” He said quickly.

“With Mr. Malfoy, I presume.” Neville noticed a note of skepticism on her face but she didn’t press any further as Harry nodded his head.

Neville helped her lead Harry to one of the beds and sat him down.

“Thank you, Mr. Longbottom. You may go now. Mr. Potter, here needs to rest up.” 

He nodded his head, his gaze meeting Harry’s again. He mouthed, ‘Thank you.’ Neville smiled in return before heading back into the corridor. 

The next week of classes went by quickly. On Saturday, he and Harry, who had recovered from his injuries, was heading down the corridor to Professor McGonagall’s office for detention. They stopped when they heard an extra pair of footsteps behind them. They both turned rather quickly, wands out and ready. Neville feared that Dobby had returned. They found themselves face to face with a small, mousy-haired boy with some sort of device in his hands. His shrill screams rang out into the corridor.

“Would you shut up?” Harry hissed at him.

The boy finally stopped screaming, clutching his device close to his body like it’d protect him.

“Hi. Sorry—you scared me.” He squeaked.

“You’re the git following us.” Harry retorted.

“I-I was hoping for a picture? With N-Neville? I’m Colin Creevey.” His cheeks went bright red.

“A picture?” Neville blinked at him.

“Using this. It’s a muggle camera.” He held it up hopefully. “So I can prove I met you. I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.”

Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hog- warts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you.” He looked imploringly at Neville.

“Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Longbottom?”

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed through the corridor. Crabbe and Goyle, his goons, accompanied him.

“No, I’m not. Shut it, Malfoy.” Neville snarled at him. 

“You’re just jealous.” Collin piped up.

“Jealous? Of what? I don’t want a foul scar across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.” He seemed to purposely avoid glancing at Harry, who was glaring at him like he was going to attack him at any moment.

“Get bent, Malfoy.” Neville spoke up before Harry had the chance. Malfoy had healed as well. They didn’t need another fight.

“Careful, Longbottom. You don’t want to start any trouble or your Gran’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He put on a shrill, piercing voice. “_If you put another toe out of line—_”

Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly at this. 

“Of course, you haven’t a real family—” He was cut short when Neville pushed him against the wall, wand at his neck. Malfoy whimpered pathetically. 

“Don’t ever talk about my family again you swiveling little—”

He could hear scuffling behind him which meant that the two lugs were coming for him and Harry was moving to fight them off.

“What’s all this? What’s all this?” Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “What’s going on here?”

Neville stepped away from Malfoy, surprised at himself, now that he was coming to.

“He was going to brutalize me because I didn’t want a signed photo like that twerp!” Malfoy said in a pathetic whine.

“He’s lying!” Harry cut in quickly.

Neville started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked!” He seemed oblivious to the malicious nature of the scene. 

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture.

“Off you go, move along there,” He ushered him away. “You too, Mr. Malfoy. You should be more mindful of others. No one likes their egos bruised!” Malfoy sent Neville a hateful glance before heading away with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind.

Lockhart, who ignored Harry entirely until that moment, smiled at them cheerily. “Neville! You’re with me tonight for detention.” He exclaimed. “Mr. Potter. Do tell Professor McGonagall I found Neville. Off you go!”

Harry appeared to be so enraged that he looked like he was going to burst into flames. With his lips curled into a snarl, and his hands balled up into fists at his sides, stomped on down the corridor.

Lockhart, who started to lead him into the opposite direct, appeared oblivious. “A word to the wise, Neville,” said Lockhart. “I covered up for you back there with young Creevey—if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much. . . .” Lockhart led him to his office as he spoke.

“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn’t sensible — looks a tad bit big-headed. There may well come a time when, like me you will need to keep a stack handy wherever you go but you aren’t there just yet.”

One could fry an egg on Neville’s face it was burning so red. Lockhart didn’t seem to notice. 

"Sit, sit!” He cheerfully stated. “Now I know it seems unfair but at your level, you still have to follow the rules.” 

Neville took his seat and glanced around. Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

“You can address the envelopes!” Lockhart told Neville, as though this was a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her, she’s a huge fan of mine.”

Minutes ticked by slowly. Neville diligently addressed the envelopes, his mind wandering aimlessly. Lockhart interrupted his thoughts every so often, remarking, “fame is a fickle friend” and “celebrity is as celebrity does”. Neville nodded sagely pretending he knew what he was going on about.

Then he heard something—something quite different than the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart’s prattle about his fans. 

It was a voice to chill the bone marrow. It was the sound of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

“_Come...come to me...Let me rip you...Let me tear you...Let me kill you…”_

Neville jumped to his feet in alarm. 

“What was that?” He yelled out. 

“What was what?” Lockhart asked, his brows rose considerably.

“That—that voice. Didn’t you hear it?” 

“What _are _you talking about? Perhaps you are getting a little drowsy? Great Scott, look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! Time has flown!”

Neville couldn’t think of a way to answer. His heart was pounding out of his chest, the voice’s words repetitively playing in his mind. He strained his ears to hear the voice again but it was silent. 

He had no idea what else Lockhart said to him as he led him out of his office. He found himself wandering back toward the Gryffindor common room. Once he said the password he stepped inside. Hermione and Seamus were waiting for him.

He sat down on the couch; vaguely aware they were speaking to him.

“Neville?” He jumped at Hermine’s hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He murmured. 

Both of them were staring at him with concern. He furrowed his brows, considering keeping them out of it. He didn’t want to put them in danger.

“What is it?” Hermione pressed.

“Nothing.” Neville replied quickly.

“Rubbish!” Seamus hotly replied. 

Neville studied them, acutely aware that they were not going to let this go. He told them what happened during detention.

“And Lockhart couldn’t hear it?” Hermione asked.

He shook his head, the colour draining from his face.

“Maybe he was lying?” Seamus suggested.

“He wouldn’t!” Hermione countered quickly. 

“Then what?” Seamus frowned at her. 

“I don’t know!” 

“Me either.” Neville muttered; his hands were shaking with nerves and apprehension. 

_Whose voice was it and where did it come from?_ He was terrified to find out.


	6. Curiosity petrified the cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had a rather rough week!

After last year’s fiasco, Draco was not looking forward to Halloween. No doubt Longbottom was going to attract some sort of atrocity. _Him and his bloody fan club_. Just last month he was signing pictures for some Mudblood first year with some Muggle contraption. It looked like some sort of box with knobs on it. 

Then that moronic git Lockhart invaded their space. Somehow, he was worse than the strange smelling Quirrell, who as it turned out, was a lackey of the Dark Lord. Yet he was still preferable to Lockhart, the Longbottom feet snogger. The worst of it was how willing Potter was to stand by the “Golden Boy”. It was disgusting how quickly he became some sort of fanboy. The git obviously wanted a taste of fame regardless of how he obtained it. He had no idea how else he could put up with Longbottom. 

A few days before Halloween, Draco and Potter trudged wordlessly inside after a particularly grueling practice. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy stream, and the oaf’s pumpkins swelled to the size of a shed. That did not stop their team captain, Marcus Flint, from pushing them to their limits in the dreary weather. They were heading for their dormitory when Harry ran headfirst into Longbottom who, as always, couldn’t manage a day without slamming into something. _By now the brain damage must be immense. _

Longbottom staggered backwards and landed on his arse. Draco rolled his eyes as he grabbed Potter’s arm as he staggered back a few paces. 

“Aggh, oaf.” Potter groaned loudly.

“Sorry, Harry!” The fat lump said.

“Haven’t you learned how to walk yet?” Draco spat.

Longbottom opened his mouth to reply when the grotesque figure of Filch and his ugly cat appeared before them. Draco scowled as Longbottom and Potter exchanged dubious glances.

“Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, you lot!” He exclaimed angrily. 

Longbottom managed to get to his feet without falling over again. They followed Filch back downstairs, tripling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Draco had never been inside Filch’s office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Draco realized they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. The twin Weasels had an entire drawer to themselves.

A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

“Dung,” he muttered furiously, “great sizzling dragon bogies...frog brains... rat intestines...I’ve had enough of it...make an example... where’s the form...yes...” 

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

“Names...Draco Malfoy...Harry Potter...Neville Longbottom...Crime...”

“It was only a bit of mud!” Exclaimed Potter. 

“It’s only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it’s an extra hour scrubbing!” shouted Filch, a drop lingering at the end of his bulbous nose. “Crime...befouling the castle...suggested sentence...” 

“I hadn’t even been muddy!” Longbottom squawked like a bloody chicken.

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Longbottom. “You look muddy and guilty to me!” He exclaimed.

“This is absolute rubbish. My father will hear about this!” Draco spoke up.

Filch glanced up at him, “Oh, that he will, lad, but it won’t be to your favour!” He growled out.

“We’ll see.” Murmured Draco darkly.

As Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

“PEEVES!” Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. “I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!” 

And without a backward glance at them, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris trailing alongside him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Draco was not a fan of the mischievous poltergeist. He was always trying to get students in trouble. That was why he felt a sense of pride that Peeves was, albeit briefly, blamed for the great prank on Gryffindor last year. At the moment, however, he was grateful for his timing. He was hoping that whatever Peeves had done, it would distract Filch from punishing them. 

“We should just leave.” Potter pointedly avoided Draco’s gaze.

“We’ll only get into more trouble.” Longbottom said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “My father will take care of that git and his disgusting cat.” He said stiffly. 

Potter dared to roll his eyes at Draco’s words. The irritatingly lazy Seeker sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk; his bored gaze scanned the desk. Draco followed it, his own gaze glimmering with curiosity. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form. It was a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to make sure that Filch wasn’t on his way back, Potter picked up the envelope, flicked it open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. 

“Hey. Look at this!” Potter pointed to the parchment that Draco had watched him pull out.

“That’s private, Harry.” Longbottom scolded.

“Oh, shut up. You know you are just as curious.” Potter returned with a playful glance his way.

Draco scowled at both of them but curiosity won out over his anger so he made his way to the desk and glanced at the bit of parchment. He heard Longbottom sigh, but inevitably joined the other two lads to read it.

**_KWIKSPELL _**

** _A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic_ **

_Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer! _

_Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method! _

_Madam Z_. _Nettles of Topsham writes:_

_“I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!”_

_Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: _

_“My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!_” 

Draco smirked as he grabbed the envelope and thumbed through the rest of the its contents. 

“He’s a Squib?” Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. “He shouldn’t be allowed in the school let alone among wizards. How dare Dumbledore bring in this...lesser being in here. He’s probably a Mudblood too.” Draco spat.

“Shut it, Malfoy. It’s not like he can help it.” Potter snapped.

Longbottom nodded his head in agreement with Harry.

“Are you two feeling sorry for the git who would love nothing more than to torture us in the dungeons?” Draco perked his brows, his mouth twisted into a nasty sneer.

Potter grunted, “Oh, sod off.”

Longbottom remained quiet, though his brows were furrowed, as though deep in thought. 

“Don’t strain yourself, Longbottom.” Draco let out a laugh at his own words.

Longbottom turned a deep shade of red.

When shuffling footsteps outside told them that Filch was coming back, Draco threw the papers at Potter and he stuffed the parchment back into the envelope. He threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened. 

Filch was looking triumphant. “That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!” he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. “We’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet —” His eyes fell on Potter and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, they realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started. 

Filch’s pasty face went brick red. Draco braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer. 

“Have you--did you read---?” he sputtered.

“No,” The trio said in unison.

Filch’s knobby hands were twisting together. “If I thought you’d read my private---not that it’s mine---for a friend---be that as it may---however—” Potter and Longbottom was staring at him, alarmed, while Draco smirked slightly at the uncouth babbling. His fury was nothing short of comical. Filch’s eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouched cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn’t help. 

“Very well---go---and don’t breathe a word---not that---however, if you didn’t read---go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report.”

The trio didn’t have to be told twice. They ran out of the door out into the corridor, passing Peeves, who had a look of mad glee on his face. 

“Filchy-poo what’s eating you! Muddy shoes is the least of your worries now!” He sang loudly. 

Draco could have sworn he winked at them. It was surreal. Longbottom skirted off to Gryffindor land after saying some rubbish to Potter that he wasn’t listening to. He supposed Potter replied. He was focusing on more important things like whether he should actually tell his father.

He would be upset about a Squib being in the school but he had been so volatile lately; he wasn’t sure if it was worth it. 

Potter smirked at Draco suddenly. “That...Peeves…did you see? I think he winked at us!”

They both cracked up laughing. For a brief moment, the weight on his chest felt lighter. He wondered if perhaps he and Potter could restore their friendship after all.

Once they reached the painting, however, Potter pulled ahead of him wordlessly, and ignored him entirely. _Bloody Potter. _He thought darkly. _So much for making amends._

On Halloween, he made his way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast with Crabbe and Goyle at his side. The decorations were just as impressive as the year prior. He loved the golden plates and the thousands of bats flying overhead. He liked to imagine them flocking around certain gits and pecking at them annoyingly until they ran out of the room. 

The food was spectacular, especially the desserts, which he hadn’t had much of the prior year thanks to the troll. He took care not to eat too much, not wanting to shame his family by becoming fat. Harry was strangely absent from the feast. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have no regard for such notions as they greedily ate with abandon. Pansy wrinkled her nose in obvious disgust. Draco smirked to himself even though he hadn’t said a single word to anyone all night.

Shortly before the feast ended, he got up abruptly and headed toward his dormitory to study. They had made it the entire feast without a horrible troll or some other horror interrupting their good time. Draco considered that a success. No one followed him out. Crabbe and Goyle somehow found room to eat more, Theo and Blaise spoke in whispers about Salazar knows what, and Pansy gossiped about whatever stupid rumour that was spreading about. 

Footsteps suddenly whisked past him at a hurried pace. It didn’t take him long to realize it was Longbottom, Finnigan and Potter. He halted in place, torn between curiosity and the urge to be left alone in the privacy of the emerald curtains curled around his bed.

Curiosity eventually won out and he turned and ran after the gits. He nearly ran into them as Longbottom skidded to a sudden stop.

“It’s that voice again…” Longbottom said in an urgent voice.

_Oh, great. He’s gone bloody bonkers. I can see the headlines now, ‘The boy who lived is now the boy who hears voices.’_

“Listen!” The absolute lunatic hissed at the other two who probably agreed just so that they could further snog his ugly feet.

“This way!” Longbottom shot toward the staircase and up the stairs with a surprising amount of speed for a plump lad.

He had no idea what he was on about; all he heard was the chatter of the Halloween Feast beneath them. They headed up more stairs to the second floor with Harry and Finnigan trailing him like demented puppies. 

Longbottom stopped again and appeared to be listening to something.

“Have you gone mental, boyo?” Finnigan asked. 

“Shhhh!” Was Longbottom’s only reply.

Quite frankly, Draco was with Finnigan on this one. He was definitely unhinged.

He stared at Harry who was frowning at Neville in a way that he knew meant he was contemplating subduing him with a jinx or a hex.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Neville’s excessive shouting snapped him out of it.

_What is going to kill someone? _The nutter ran up the stairs, huffing and puffing. Draco found he couldn’t help but follow any more than the other two prats.

_Curiosity killed the cat. _He thought suddenly as they turned the corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Longbottom, I swear if you don’t stop this madness, I’m going to hex you.” Potter spoke up finally. “I can’t hear a bloody thing!”

“Obviously can’t see anything either since you had not noticed me following you lot.” Draco cut in with a narrowed gaze.

“What _are_ you doing here, Malfoy?” Potter dared to ask.

He was about to answer when Seamus gasped in horror. “Look!” He pointed down the corridor.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

Draco gaped at it for several moments in shock. 

“What is that hanging beneath?” Finnigan’s voice quivered as he spoke.

Despite his better senses, he moved closer with the rest of the lot. He nearly slipped in the large puddle of water. His eyes fixated on the dark shadow beneath the writing. Draco let out a small squeak once he realized what it was. Water sloshed around him as he took a large step backwards. 

It was Mrs. Norris, the caretakers disgusting cat, hanging by her tail on the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

_Curiosity killed the cat. Literally. _He winced, remembering it was a Muggle phrase he heard as a child. He was at the park with his mother. It was one of the few times he was able to be out in the open, amongst other people. 

He wandered off quite far away from his mother, toward a Muggle park he had spotted. His mother was always careful to keep him far from them, of course, but sometimes they saw glimpses of the Muggle world in passing. He knew it was around there somewhere. He sneaked away while his mother was gossiping with Mrs. Parkinson. He wanted to go in the rocks with the other children. They had been playing on some sort of contraption. They could slide down it yet it didn’t seem to be controlled by magic at all. 

He walked closer, spotting a woman with grey hair, a stern face, and distinctly Muggle clothes. Mother had said they were beneath them but she was holding a beautiful black kitten with wide, yellow eyes. He stepped forward, reaching for it. He wanted to pet the kitten more than anything. 

The cat hissed at him angrily and he stumbled backwards, nearly falling in the rubble beneath him. 

“Curiosity killed the cat, young wee one. They may have nine lives but we do not. You must earn the trust of cats.” She said in a scratchy voice, her sea blue eyes fixated on him in a kind yet stern way.

He was about to ask how when he felt a yank on his arm. He was quickly pulled away.

“I was looking everywhere for you!” She hissed, though Draco knew that it was out of worry.

As soon as they were far enough away from the Muggle world, she continued.

“Stay away from those filthy Muggles, Draco. They are beneath us. You don’t want to shame your family by consorting with those types.” His mother scolded him.

Draco was jerked from the memory when he felt his body jerk forward slightly. He blinked rapidly, realizing Potter was shaking his shoulders.

“Draco? Draco?” He had been saying.

“What! Bloody hell, get off me!” He bellowed as he moved away from him.

“Fine. Stay here with the dead cat. See if I care!” Potter retorted.

He had no idea why the recalled the memory of the filthy Muggle and her cat at a time like this but he decided that Potter had a point.

“Shouldn’t we try to help—” Longbottom began.

“No. We need to get out of here.” Potter said.

“Aye. I’m with him.” Finnigan agreed.

But it was too late. A rumble, as though distant thunder, told them the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter died almost instantly as they spotted the hanging cat. Both silence and screams erupted from the crowd. Draco stepped backwards toward the masses so he was separated from them.

He forced himself to grin widely against his flushed face. “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” He pointed to Granger, who had pushed herself to the front of the crowd.

She turned so red she looked purple. The other three looked like they were going to say something but another voice interrupted them before they had the chance.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. 

He let out a screech as he clutched his face in horror at the sight of his cat.

“You!” He yelled, pointing at Longbottom. “_You_! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll—”

Thankfully another voice cut him off. Draco was getting a headache. He watched Dumbledore as Draco attempted to slip further into the crowd. He didn’t want to be associated with this.

In seconds, Dumbledore had swept past the trio and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” Dumbledore said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Finnigan.”

“Malfoy was there too!” That bloody Finnigan shouted loudly, causing a new wash of conspiring whispers to break out amongst the students.

Draco grit his teeth, and glared at Finnigan as he came forward, the other students parting the way for him. _I’m going to hex you good for this, Finnigan. _He hoped the look on his face conveyed as such to the git.

“You as well, then Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore didn’t skip a beat.

Then that meddlesome Lockhart got stepped forward.

“My office is nearest, Headmaster. It’s just upstairs. Please feel free—”

“Thank you, Gilderoy.” Said Dumbledore.

The silenced crowd let them pass. Lockhart looked excited as he basked in his delusional sense of self-importance. He, along with Professor McGonagall and Snape followed behind Dumbledore.

As they entered Lockhart’s darkened office, Draco’s stomach fluttered with nerves. This wasn’t exactly “laying low” as his father had instructed. 

Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Draco wondered why he would pick someone else’s desk to do that, of all places. Longbottom, Potter, and Seamus sat in the chairs, while Draco stood next to them, trying his best to look nonchalant. The other three had exchanged tense looks. He was relieved they seemed to be ignoring him at least.

To Draco’s absolute horror, the tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’ fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingernails gently prodding and poking. McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape glanced over from behind them, half in shadow, distant from the others, wearing a rather peculiar expression. It looked like he was trying not to smile. _Is he demented, after all? _He couldn’t help but wonder. _I had to force my smirk. How could one have to bite back a smile at a time like this?_

Lockhart hovered all around them, making idiotic and unhelpful suggestions. 

“It was definitely a curse that killed her. It was probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I’ve seen it many times. So unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her…”

Lockhart’s comments were punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Draco couldn’t help but feel bad for the git. As miserable as he was; he loved that stupid cat. He didn’t feel half as bad for him as he did for himself if his father found out about this. _What if they were all blamed and expelled_? He shuddered at the thought of what would happen to him then.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened. She remained lifeless on the desk.

Lockhart was muttering some nonsense that Draco tuned out as he watched their Headmaster at work. 

At last, Dumbledore straightened up. 

“She’s not dead, Argus.” He said softly.

“Not dead?” Choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why is she all stiff and frozen?”

“She’s been petrified.” Said Dumbledore. (“Ah! I thought so!” Said Lockhart). “But how, I cannot say…”

Draco stared at the cat, bewildered. _So, it’s not dead? Petrified? How does he not know how?_

Filch’s outcry cut off his thoughts.

“It was them four, there!” His shaking finger moved between Longbottom, Potter, Finnigan and Draco. “They--they figured out I’m a Squib! Then told that one there!” He pointed to Finnigan.

“None of us touched Mrs. Norris!” Potter bellowed into the silence. “Nobody cares you’re a bloody Squib!” Longbottom nodded like an idiot in agreement. 

Draco swallowed, pushing aside his ego, “Quite. We don’t care you’re a Squib.” He lied. “I would not willingly speak to Finnigan about anything.” That part was true at least.

“Rubbish!” Filch’s pouched face was purpling.

“No second year could have done this.” Said Dumbledore firmly. “It would have taken advanced Dark Magic to succeed.” 

“If I might speak, Headmaster.” Said Snape from the shadows. “Longbottom and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, his lips curling into a sneer, “but it is quite suspicious. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren’t they at the feast?”

Draco fumed. “Those are _not _my friends. I followed them because I thought they were up to something.” He cut in. 

He didn’t care about the rest of them but he did hate to throw Potter under the bus like that. Even if he was a traitorous git. 

The three of them stared at Draco a moment and then turned back to Snape.

“You see, we were heading back early because we wanted to get a bit more studying done. We had no idea Malfoy was following us like a stalker.” Potter turned to Draco and sent a murderous look, daring him to counter his words.

Draco sneered at him but inwardly he was nervous. He remembered all too well what happened the last time he earned the deranged lad’s ire.

“Studying on Halloween?” Snape looked doubtful. His gaze flickered to Draco. “I can see why you’d follow them, Mr. Malfoy.” He almost looked like he was going to smile.

Draco sent back a gloating glance toward the trio. _If Snape vouches for me it probably means I’m off the hook._

“We care about our education. You can’t fault us with that.” Potter pressed. The other two nodded their head enthusiastically.

“I find that hard to believe.” Came Snape’s oily reply. “I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter isn’t being entirely truthful. Perhaps Mr. Longbottom and his friends have been a bad influence on him. I’d hate to see him go down with them.”

“We aren’t a bad influence and you don’t know Harry if you think anyone can influence him!” Longbottom spoke up.

Everyone turned toward Longbottom in surprise. Draco noticed that his cheeks were flushed with rage and his hands were curled into fists at his side. _Wow. He’s a good friend. I doubt anyone would ever stick up for me in that way. _He thought a bit sadly. He glanced toward Potter, who seemed just as shocked and sighed. _Potter might have once. _He stared at the floor, his mind wandering. He was aware that people were talking but it was just white noise. 

Dumbledore’s piercing gaze met each one of them as though he could see through them.

“Innocent until proven guilty.” Dumbledore firmly stated.

Both Snape and Filch appeared furious.

“My cat has been petrified! I want to see some _punishment_!” 

“We are able to cure her, Argus.” Dumbledore said with more patience than Draco would have had. “Professor Sprout was able to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they reach their full size, I will have a potion that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“How long will that take?” Longbottom spoke over Lockhart volunteering to whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught.

“Around nine months. They have already begun to mature so they should be ready in May.” Dumbledore explained.

This revelation caused Filch to break into a new bout of sobs. “May! That’s months away!” He moaned loudly.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. The whole ordeal was giving him a headache.

“...whip it up before then.” Lockhart was saying.

“Excuse me,” Said Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions Master at this school.”

There was a rather awkward pause.

“You may go now.” Dumbledore told the four of them.

He didn’t have to tell them twice. They hurried out the door. Draco noticed the trio hurrying up the stairs into an empty classroom. He followed behind them. He thought he deserved some bloody answers. Finnigan shut the door behind him, too preoccupied to notice Draco by this point. He leaned into the door to listen. 

“....told them about the voice I heard?” Longbottom was saying.

“...isn’t a good sign, even in the Wizarding world.” Said Potter.

"...believe me?” 

“But you must admit it’s weird…” Finnigan’s accent gave him away.

“The whole thing is weird. What was the writing about? _The Chamber Has Been Opened..._What’s that supposed to mean?” Longbottom’s voice seemed to be closing in on him.

Draco backed up and made his way swiftly back to the Slytherin Dormitories, his mind reeling.

_What was the Chamber of Secrets?_ _Who opened it and what about that message? Enemies of the heir, beware? What heir?_

He eventually fell into a fitful sleep, his mind exhausted from the effort.

For a few days, the school could talk of little else than the attack on Mrs. Norris. Everyone appeared on edge. Weaselette appeared especially perturbed by it. He overheard Weasel talk about what a cat lover she was. _At least no humans were attacked. _Draco had thought to himself. Despite his words that night; he wasn’t keen on people being attacked by something utterly unknown.

They were in History of Magic class, listening to the bloody ghost drone on about something that didn’t actually matter, when Harry put up his hand. 

Binns, along with everyone else, appeared taken off-guard. Draco frowned. _He’s been hanging with the Mudblood too much._

“Er, Yes Mr. Potter?”

“I heard that you told the Gryffindors about the _Chamber of Secrets _earlier today. What did you tell them? I would rather not go by hearsay.”

The boring ghost seemed exasperated by the notion. “I don’t see why everyone wants to hear about such a _ludicrous_ tale—”

“But we do. If you’ll tell the Gryffindors then surely it’s no problem for us to hear it.” Potter insisted.

Binns let out a sigh. “Very well.” 

Draco glanced around him. The classmates who normally slept through the class were sitting upright. Everyone, for once, had their eyes fixated on Binns. _I wonder if this is what happened in the Gryffindor class. _Draco thought to himself. 

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, the precise date is uncertain, by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he said. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

“Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

The students gaped at him incredulously. Some of them seemed pleased by this while others appeared horrified or indignant. 

“So, this Legend basically confirms what everyone thinks about us? That we are a bunch of elitists with no sense of morals and want to rid the school of Muggle-borns?” A female Slytherin he didn’t know spoke up.

Binns sputtered a bit before answering. “Well. The story is arrant nonsense. I said as such yesterday. The school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. It is merely a tale to frighten the gullible and further cause a rift between houses.”

Potter raised his hand this time. “What exactly do you mean by ‘the horror within’ the Chamber?

“They believed there is some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control.”

Silence filled the room.

“How would anyone find it if only the Heir of Slytherin can open it?” Potter spoke up without raising his hand.

“It is not real! No one has opened it, just as I told Mr. Finnigan!” He said in an irritated tone.

“But—”

“I am _not _going through this again! Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean they _can’t. _And like I told Mr. Thomas; it doesn’t matter if they are related to Slytherin because it does not exist! It is a myth!” He shouted angrily.

He smoothed down his robes primly. “It would behoove you to disregard such rubbish for it does not paint your house in a favorable light. Don’t give the rest of the school reason to believe that any of it is true.” He said in a calmer tone. “Now. We will return to _history, _to solid, believable, verifiable fact.”

Within five minutes the class sank back into its usual torpor. Draco, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Dobby had gone to warn Longbottom about something bad happening if he returned to Hogwarts. _Could he have meant this? But how? _It was quite disturbing to say the least.

Unfortunately, the story spread like wildfire and everyone was keeping their distance from the Slytherins as a whole. People were bent on believing that one of them was the Heir of Slytherin and had some diabolical plan up their sleeve.

He kept getting the distinct feeling that he was being followed but when he turned no one was there. There were times he believed Potter was stalking him under his ridiculous invisibility cloak but he had no proof of it. He was starting to feel like he was going mad.

Even fellow Slytherins seemed wary of each other, especially him since he stupidly spoke out in front of everyone when the words were found. He frequently pointed out that Dumbledore said it wasn’t something a second year could pull off but it fell on deaf ears. _Morons. _He had thought to himself. He kept to himself, not wanting to bring further attention to him or his family after his father told him to lay low.

Draco was thankful for Quidditch. It gave him a chance to fly and clear his mind without the accusations and glares from the rest of the school. 

The first match was against the Gryffindors. They had been the worst offenders, even going as far as trying to hex some of the Slytherins. They knew better than to retaliate. Most of them knew how to disarm their opponent by now. They weren’t too keen on giving those bigoted Mudblood and Muggle lovers more to go on. They might agree with Salazar on allowing in Mudbloods but it didn’t mean they were letting some ancient creature after them.

Gryffindors walked out onto the pitch first. Everyone cheered for the prats like they were saints. It was disgusting. When the Slytherin team walked out onto the pitch, everyone booed and hissed at them like they were faceless villains. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to it so they put on their masks of nonchalance and continued on.

Slytherin easily took lead much to the dismay of everyone else. Their brooms were faster and they were far more talented, in Draco’s opinion anyway. He couldn’t help but notice Potter openly glaring at him. Draco was minding his business, trying to score points for their team while Potter sat on his broom waiting for the snitch. 

Rain started to fall, making it harder to see. He forgot about Potter’s murderous stares as he immersed himself in the game. Then he noticed Potter jerking about ahead of him. One of the Bludgers appeared to be bent on attacking him.

After some rather near hits, they called a timeout.

“Those bloody Gryffindors have done something to it!” Flint was complaining to someone he couldn’t clearly see through the rain.

“But the Bludgers have been locked up in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them.” They had replied.

Madam Hooch walked over to Flint and they spoke in hushed tones. Everyone outside of Slytherin were jeering as they pointed at Potter.

Draco was starting to think that Potter had one of his Gryffindor pals jinx the Bludger so that they’d lose. 

Finally, Hooch blew the whistle again and they resumed playing.

The rain was falling more heavily now. It became rather difficult to see anything at all. Irritatingly enough, Potter was jerking about. He zigzagged, spiraled and rolled. He looked like an absolute tosser! _Is he trying to make us look bad? _

When he ended up hanging upside down in a narrow escape from the Bludger he decided to approach.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” He yelled, ignoring the rest of the game for the moment. 

“Shut up, you git! The Bludger is obviously jinxed!” Potter retorted.

“Yeah I’m sure you andr one of you Gryffindors planned the whole thing quite nicely!” He spat as he flew closer. 

“What? Why would I do that? You think I want to let those gits win after how they’ve been treating us?” 

“I thought you and Longbottom were buddies.” Draco pressed.

“Not every Gryffindor is the same just like not all of us are the same!”

Draco scuffed at him dismissively even though he knew he had a point. He saw something glitter by Potter’s ear a moment too late. The Golden Snitch was right by his ear but he had been so busy glaring at Draco that he hadn’t seen it. The Gryffindor Seeker swooped by Potter as he chased down the Snitch. Potter swooped down after it but he was far behind him. 

“Come on, git!” He turned, realizing the team had been yelling at them for Salazar knew how long. 

He flew toward his teammates, who had stopped as they watched Potter and the Gryffindor Seeker chase after the Snitch. It looked like Potter was catching up when the Bludger at last hit him directly in the elbow. Draco winced despite himself. Still, he was relentless. He took off after the Snitch again, dodging a second attack.

The two of them were neck and neck as they dived toward the ground like they were barking mad. They both pulled up at the last moment as the Snitch changed directions. 

Potter finally pulled ahead as he inched closer to the Snitch when the Bludger hit him and with a sputtering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Above him, the bloody Gryffindor caught the Snitch, ending the game. 

Draco flew down to Potter as he laid on the ground.

“Did we win?” Potter muttered before he passed out. 

The other members of the Slytherin flew down and hovered over Potter. After a few moments he opened his eyes. Lockhart came over claiming he could fix them. 

“Oh, sod off you bloody fraud!” Draco found himself saying as he stepped closer to Potter, protectively standing in front of him. 

Lockhart sent him a fiery gaze. Draco held eye contact until he felt the sharp pain of something hitting him in the head. He hit the mud with a loud splash and everything faded away.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital wing. He groaned as he turned onto his side. He spotted Potter in the bed next to him. It looked like something was sitting on him. _Am I losing my mind?_ He wondered.

“Your Bludger? What d’ya mean _your_ Bludger? Why did you try to kill me?” Potter exclaimed in the darkness.

“Dobby had to take great care to sneak out after months of torture. Dobby wants Longbottom to know that him staying here puts his friends in danger.”

_Dobby? How did he get here? What in Salazar’s name is going on? _Draco remained quiet despite his mind racing anxiously.

“Only as long as you’re trying to kill us!” Potter was saying. 

“No. Not kill you, sir. Dobby is trying to save Neville Longbottom! Better he go home so that he and his friends are safe than be injured!”

“Oh, is that all?” Said Harry angrily.

“You must understand and help Dobby protect Neville Longbottom! He must know what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved we dregs is the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir.” 

Draco bit his lip with uncertainty. _What did it expect? It’s a slave!_ Still, there was something disturbing about hearing about it from the house-elf itself.

“...Neville Longbottom survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Neville Longbottom shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir. Now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Neville Longbottom stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—-”

Draco couldn’t really see it but he could hear something crack and then topple off somewhere.

There was whispering he couldn’t quite hear. His head was throbbing by now. He tried to remember why he was there but it was all fuzzy in his mind.

“Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Neville Longbottom must not be here when they happen. He must go home and take his friends with him. He _must_ go home for his friends so that he can protect them!”

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He drifted off to sleep, leaving the conversation behind him.

When his eyes fluttered open it was light out. He turned his head and saw Potter sleeping in the bed next to him, alone. For a moment he thought perhaps he was dreaming before. _How did Dobby escape before?_

Saint Potter was rarely alone in the Hospital wing. He was visited by Gryffindors as well as Slytherins. The only words spoken to Draco was about how he messed up the game by taunting his own teammate by distracting him from getting the Snitch. They blamed him for Potter missing the Snitch. They insisted that he wouldn't have had to further chase the Snitch or inevitably hit by the rogue Bludger. If they hadn’t been directing their anger toward Draco, they wouldn’t have bothered to hit him with the Bludger. Then Lockhart wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do his moronic spell that rid Potter of all his bones. 

He hadn't bothered to respond to any of it. _What good would it do at this point?_

The more the words sank in, the more he realized that his father _would_ hear is this and it was _not_ going to be pleasant for him.

The day after he was released from the hospital wing, two things occurred. His father owled him to meet in Snape’s office again and that annoying Mudblood who wanted a signed picture with Longbottom was petrified.

_Salazar, I’m in trouble. _His stomach lurched dangerously. When he jumped to his feet in the middle of—he couldn’t even recall what lesson he was in---his classmates snickered at him. He ignored them as he ran out at full speed out of the classroom, to the second floor, his head ducking into the first toilet he saw, unaware it was the girls’ lavatory. The contents of his stomach exited his mouth in one heaving blow.


	7. The Polyjuice potion.

Neville had been haunted by what occurred on Halloween ever since that night. He supposed it actually started a few days prior when he, Harry and Malfoy found out that Mr. Filch was a Squib. It didn’t seem significant at the time but considering the accusations after Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris was petrified, it only made sense to connect the two. Of course, Neville knew neither he nor Harry wouldn’t hurt the cat, regardless of how miserable she was. 

After what happened, he doubted Malfoy’s innocence. Especially considering the way he stalked behind them when he heard that awful voice. Not to mention the way called out into the crowds using that derogatory word for those who were Muggle-born. 

Nightmares plagued him nightly ever since. He woke up with chills running down his spine and the voice whispering in the same way it did that night.

_“...rip...tear...kill...”_

_“...so hungry…for so long…”_

_“...kill...time to kill…”_

_“...I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD!”_

He heard it while sleeping and it echoed in his mind whenhe was awake.

Harry getting attacked by a rogue Bludger did not help matters. Harry had ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. Professor Lockhart stupidly did a spell that removed all of his bones. Neville wanted to hex the inept Professor into oblivion but he knew better than to act on such things. 

It wasn’t until Harry was released from the hospital wing that they found out that it was Dobby once again. He was still trying to get Neville to leave Hogwarts, now emphasizing that if he didn’t his friends would get hurt.

“This is serious. We need to tell an adult.” Neville said when Harry explained the events of the Quidditch game and to him, Hermione, Seamus, and Ron, in full.

“No way. They’ll just send us home and none of us are leaving. Especially now.” Harry stubbornly replied.

“I---I don’t know. This is getting a bit mental, don’tcha think?” Ron interjected.

“A right chancer for sure, but we can’t leave now. What if---what if it only gets worse once we leave?” Seamus’ voice shook slightly as they spoke.

"We can't leave now. We just _can't_. We have to help the other Muggle-born students." Hermine exclaimed.

Neville sighed slightly. He had to admit they had a point. Ever since they found poor Colin Creevy on the staircase petrified, Neville couldn’t get the Mandrakes out of his mind. _What will become of Colin? What will his poor Muggle parents say? _The parents of those who were Muggle-born knew the least about magic, were in danger. If attacks kept occurring, Hogwarts was going to end up getting shut down. _We have to find the Heir of Slytherin but where does one start with such a feat? What about the Mandrakes?_

Neville checked on the plants in Greenhouse one. It was where the less dangerous plants resided. Professor Sprout allowed him to help with the simpler tasks since he took such a liking to Herbology. It helped him clear his mind. 

“I comprised the list.” He approached Professor Sprout with it with a proud smile.

“Good, thank you, Mr. Longbottom.” She smiles at him. “Now let’s get to tending to these plants. You are quite a natural.”

Neville, who had never been a natural at anything, beamed with pride. He followed her over to the Fluxweed plant to tend to it. 

Professor Sprout furrowed her brows as she eyed the list. “Will you be OK for a few moments alone? Some of these are to be ordered special.” She stated. 

Neville smacked his earth caked hand against his forehead. Professor Sprout’s eyes widened considerably.

“What is it, Neville, are you alright?” She approached closer with a look of concern. “Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

Neville silently shook his head. “No. I’m such an idiot. Such an idiot.” He murmured.

“What is wrong?” She pressed.

He ignored the question entirely. “Professor, is it possible to special order Mandrake Restorative Draught to cure those petrified?” He asked her, wondering why no one else had thought of this. 

“Well, it can be rather hard to preserve but I suppose there could be someone that had started before us or had extracted some and kept it. Could be a bit expensive…” She spoke more to herself than Neville by that point.

“I can help pay.” He offered. “Anything to help.” Neville said earnestly.

Professor Sprout chuckled a bit. “Why Neville, no one would expect such a thing from a student.”

Neville frowned, “My parents left me loads of money and I couldn’t possibly spend it all. I keep thinking of Colin’s Muggle parents and—” He couldn’t fully express his guilt without talking about what Dobby had said. 

He was starting to believe that his return to Hogwarts was the reason for all the trouble happening at Hogwarts just as Dobby had said. First Dobby nearly killed him and Harry over the summer, then the train incident, and Mrs. Norris was petrified. Then the rogue Bludger occurred, and now Colin was petrified. _How many people were going to get hurt because of me_? He had to do something, anything to make it better.

“What’s wrong?” Professor Sprout’s voice was coated with concern.

He sniffed, not realizing tears were falling until that moment. “I’m worried about Colin is all. He was looking for me when he was petrified.”

She sent him a quizzical look.

“Harry overheard them in the Hospital wing.” He explained with a sheepish grin.

Professor Sprout chuckled, shaking her head. “Us adults should be more careful. You kids are far better listeners than we give you credit for.”

“Can I help, then?”

“First we have to see if we can find any. If we need help, we’ll let you know.” 

Something about the way she said it led him to believe that they wouldn’t ask him for help. He just hoped they were able to get some of the Mandrake Restorative Draught to cure those that were petrified. 

It still did not resolve the issue of the monster, who was controlled by the Heir of Slytherin, being let loose in the school.

“OK. So, it started with the uh voices I heard. It led us to a petrified Mrs. Norris. Then we learned about the Chamber of Secrets in class. Then there was the Quidditch match where Harry was hit by Dobby’s rogue Bludger and Colin Creevy being petrified.” Neville was pacing back and forth in the unused classroom.

“Sit down mate, you’re making me dizzy.” Seamus remarked.

“I don’t want to sit down!” Neville snapped.

Seamus’ eyebrows rose in surprise but he didn’t press it.

Neville had already told them about the Mandrakes, in which Hermione remarked, “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“But we are no further in finding out who the Heir of Slytherin is.” Harry announced.

His words were met with silence. 

“What about Malfoy? I mean, who do we know that hates Muggleborns more than him?” Ron piped up.

Harry glared at him. “He was with us when we found Mrs. Filch.” He pointed out.

“But why _was_ he following us?” Ron reminded them.

“That’s a good question—” Hermione cut off quickly. 

They heard footsteps in the hallway. Neville and Harry crept up to the door to peek out of it. _Who else would be wandering about so close to curfew_?

Neville’s eyes widened in shock when he spotted Draco Malfoy and his father. He and Harry exchanged looks and then nodded. 

“You lot stay here. Neville and I are going to follow them.” Harry said.

“What? No way! I’m coming with you.” Seamus exclaimed.

“Only a limited amount can fit under the cloak...we are going to need backup. Trust us.” Neville pleaded.

Hermione sighed. “Do be careful and don’t linger too long.”

“Careful is my middle name.” Harry sent her a cheeky grin that made her roll her eyes.

“Right. Hurry back, will ya?” Ron’s face was contorted with worry.

Seamus grumbled something about missing a grand time.

Neville couldn’t worry about any of that right then. He watched Harry as he took out his cloak.

“Well come on ya lug.” Harry beckoned.

Neville rolled his eyes and approached him took one of the ends of the cloak as they pulled it over their heads. He and Harry headed out of the classroom, carefully heading down the same path Mr. Malfoy and Draco had taken. For a while, Neville thought for sure they had lost them. _We shouldn't have spent so much time talking. _He thought irritably. 

Up ahead they heard voices in the Charms classroom and approached quietly. Neville’s eyes remained on his feet to ensure he didn’t trip over them. 

“I _told_ you to lay low and what do you do? You are found at the scene of the crime with a petrified cat. Then I come to find that your taunting is the reason why Slytherin lost the Quidditch match. _What _do you have to say for yourself, Draco?” Mr. Malfoy said in a scathing tone.

“I—Longbottom and his loser friends were following some voice that only Longbottom could hear...it was..._odd. _The game wasn’t my fault either! It was the Bludger. Dobby showed up at the hospital wing and confessed. He said that he wanted Longbottom to leave to save his friends.” He paused, “Father how did Dobby get away again?”

Harry and Neville turned to each other; eyes wide in shock. _Dobby belonged to the Malfoys?_

Neville’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Malfoy let out a grunt. He and Harry moved a bit closer and saw the lad on the ground, holding his stomach.

“Get up.” He spat. “Pathetic boy.”

Malfoy let out a squeak as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Good lad.” Mr. Malfoy sneered. “Dobby will be dealt with severely. Do not get in the middle of this, Draco. This is beyond you.” 

“But—But I can help—if you’re…”

“_Muffliato_!” Mr. Malfoy bellowed.

They could no longer hear anything, not even when Malfoy hit the ground after stumbling backwards. They didn't need sound to decipher the way Malfoy’s face contorted with pain. 

Harry nudged Neville and they made their way back to the abandoned classroom. Harry was sheet white when the invisibility cloak was pulled off of him.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked him tentatively.

Neville shook his head slightly, giving him some space. He felt bad for Malfoy. Despite being a terrible human being, no one deserved that.

“Well? What did you find out?” Ron cut in impatiently.

“How thick are you?” Seamus remarked.

“What?” Ron grunted.

“Just wait.” Seamus murmured.

Neville approached Harry, who had plopped down on one of the chairs and sat next to him quietly. He knew there was nothing he could really say to make it OK. 

“We have to tell someone.” Neville said quietly, ignoring the looks of confusion on the other’s faces.

Harry shook his head sadly. “He would never admit it.” Neville suspected he was being purposely vague.

“Admit what? That he’s the Heir of Slytherin?” Ron asked hopefully.

Neville shot him a look and Ron shrank back a bit.

“All that matters,” Harry spoke up after a few moments, “is that Dobby belongs to the Malfoy family and his father was suspicious. Mr. Malfoy put up some kind of charm before we could find out more, though Malfoy was more than willing to help his father.” Harry spat out the last part. 

“Wait, so—Dobby went against the Malfoy’s to warn you?” Hermione concluded.

Neville nodded his head slightly. “So, Mr. Malfoy must be involved. How else would Dobby know so much?”

“But—” Seamus shook his head. “How do we prove it? I mean, you didn’t tell anyone that Dobby returned. Or Dobby was the one who tried to kill you.”

“He’s right. We need concrete proof.” Hermione agreed.

“How? It didn’t look like his dad was going to tell him anything.” Neville said.

“Maybe there was more to the muffling than we thought.” Harry mused, his expression remaining distant, unreadable.

“There might be a way.” Hermione said. “Of course, it would be difficult and dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect—”

“Get on with it.” Ron complained irritably.

“All right.” Hermione coldly replied.

“What we need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without knowing it’s us.”

“But how? I mean, getting into Slytherin would be easy enough, for me anyway, but he wouldn’t blab to me let alone you lot.” Harry spoke up.

“All we’d need is some Polyjuice Potion.”

The others gaped at her in confusion. 

“Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—”

“Is that the potion that transforms you into someone else?” Seamus asked with his brows raised.

“Exactly.” Hermione stated. 

“What makes you sure he’d say anything to anyone?” Harry asked.

“Like he could help himself. Besides, Crabbe and Goyle are too stupid to remember anything, let alone tell.” Ron stated.

“Malfoy hasn’t been hanging with anyone really.” Harry said. “But then again maybe his desperation for approval will work in our favour.”

Neville could have sworn there was a regretful look on his face.

“It seems a bit dodgy to me. What if we get stuck as Slytherin forever?” Ron skeptically stated.

“It wears off after a while.” Hermione said. “But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called _Moste Potente Potions _and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

“No problem there. I’ll just use my invisibility cloak to get it.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

“Bit mad, this all is.” Seamus bit down on his lower lip.

“Then don’t do it. See if I care.” Harry snapped.

Seamus threw his hands up, “Just putting it out there.” 

“He is right. This is dangerous. Are you sure...we should?” Neville asked.

“Well I’m kind of tired of that stupid House-elf attacking me or Neville. Besides, at this rate, someone could die. Maybe even one of us. Personally, I’d like to continue living. You lot can do whatever you want but I am doing this.” Harry turned to Hermione a bit hopefully.

“I’m in too. It is a bit mad but we can’t just sit here if the Malfoy’s are the reason people are dying.” Hermione said, shooting Harry a nervous look.

“Good. I suck at potions.” Harry said with a bit of a laugh.

“Oh, alright, I’m in.” Ron said begrudgingly.

“Me too.” Neville and Seamus chimed in.

“Brilliant. I’m going to get that book. Meet me back here tomorrow.” Harry said, already out the door with the invisibility cloak draped over him.

“He is fearless.” Hermione said in awe.

Ron frowned. “He’s just in it for himself. He wants to save his own neck. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Hermione glared at him. “That is not true. Of course, he is far too willing to break rules, but in the grand scheme of things it’s sometimes necessary.” 

Neville glanced between them, wondering if Ron was jealous but didn’t dare intervene. 

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Who cares what his reason is as long as he helps us.” 

No one could argue with that.

As they cleared out, Hermione whispered to Neville. “What did you two see that bothered Harry so much?”

Neville paled slightly, unsure if he could vocalize it himself. He shook his head, finally. It seemed wrong, somehow, to share Malfoy’s secret. Enemy or not; it wouldn’t be right to tell.

Hermione studied him for a moment and then thankfully dropped it. 

The next day they met in the classroom again. Harry handed Hermione the book. 

“Easy.” He bragged.

She rolled her eyes as she took the book. She flipped through it, her eyes widening. “This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen.” 

Neville went over to her and glanced over her shoulder. 

“Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass. Those are easy.” He muttered.

“Powdered horn of a bicorn and shredded skin of a boomslang… not so much.” Hermione said. “How are we going to get a bit of who we turn into?” She added.

“Excuse me?” said Ron sharply. “What d’you mean, a bit of who we’re changing into? I’m not drinking _anything _with Crabbe’s toenails in it!”

“Aye, well that seems the least of our worries, mates. We will have to steal a lot. What are we going to do, break into Snape’s private storage? Is that such a grand plan?” Seamus pointed out.

“Shut up, you lot. If you’re not up to it then you can leave.” Harry growled at him.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. “Well. Harry’s right. You don’t have to join. _I _don’t want to break the rules but I think threatening Muggle-borns is worse than brewing up a difficult potion. If you don’t want to help then go ahead and leave.”

“Can’t blame them for being concerned, Hermione.” Neville said carefully. 

Ron was rendered speechless but did not leave.

She shot him a scathing look and Neville put his hands up. “Never said I was out either; I just—there has to be a better way. This is getting a bit...mental.”

“Then leave, boy who lived. We don’t need you. You just get in the way.” Harry snapped at him.

“Or I just don’t want to get expelled. Then we aren’t helpful to anyone!” Neville loudly retorted as he stepped forward, getting into Harry’s face.

“Get out of my face, you coward.” Harry pushed Neville back a few paces.

For a moment Neville’s brows arched in surprise and then he moved forward and pushed him back. 

Harry let out a growl as he pulled out his wand. Neville grabbed his own out of his robes and pointed it threateningly at Harry.

Hermione stepped between them. “Stop! Stop it!” She held her arms out in either direction.

They were both fuming but they put their wands down.

“Blimey.” Ron remarked quietly.

“_If_ we are going to do this; we need to be on the same page. Anyone not interested can leave and we won’t argue or stop you.” Hermione said.

Nobody moved.

“Good. Now the Fluxweed has to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have to be stewed for twenty-one days, if we get the ingredients.” Hermione continued.

“How long will this take?” Ron asked.

“About a month.” Hermione answered.

“A month? By then Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in school!” Ron countered. Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and be added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.”

Silence lulled for a moment. “We need a better place to brew it, though.” Neville pointed out. 

“But where?” Seamus questioned.

“Let’s worry about getting the ingredients first.” said Hermione. “I think I should be the one to get them. I’m the one they’d least expect.”

“But Hermione—” Ron gaped at her.

“I can do this.” Hermione said with stubborn resolve.

Neville admired her courage yet he was also afraid for her. 

For a while they didn't have the opportunity to figure out how they were going to steal the supplies because Harry was busy with Quidditch and they were all bombarded with homework as the end of term loomed closer. Hermione, at least, found a place to brew.

Early in December; there was another attack. This time it was Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw with owl-like hazel eyes and curly chin-length red hair. Despite being in Neville’s year; she was good friends with Ginny Weasley, the youngest Weasley who had stuck up for him at Flourish and Blott. Ginny’s eyes were perpetually red rimmed from crying.

“Is she OK?” Neville had asked Ron as she quickly passed by them; her face was as pale as a ghost.

“I guess she was good friends with the girl. I spoke to the girl a few times myself; she knows as much about Quidditch as I do.” He said in awe. “Don’t know many girls like that.”

“Fancy her, do you?” Hermione said beside him with an unreadable expression. 

Neville’s stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“What? No! She’s just nice to talk to about Quidditch. Not many girls get so into it!” His cheeks were crimson.

Hermione studied him for a moment and then glanced away. “We need to get the supplies today.”

They entered the classroom and found a coundren.Hermione and Ron were paired together. Neville stood next to them.

“Okay…how?” Ron asked. 

“We need a diversion.” She explained. 

“Seamus! Over here!” 

He was speaking with Dean as he entered the classroom. For a moment he appeared to be a bit conflicted but eventually came over. 

“What’s the story?” He said with a bit of a smirk as he took his place next to Neville. 

“We need the supplies.” Hermione said quietly. “You are the key.” 

Seamus raised his brows slightly. “Me?” His cheeks turned a bit red.

“Yes. I need for you to create a spark. To distract Professor Snape. Just move out of the way quickly so you don’t get splashed.” Hermione said.

“I am not sure I can just call on it. A wee bit unpredictable, it is.” Seamus said. 

“That’s why Harry gave me this.” She held out one of Fred’s Filibuster fireworks for him to take.

There was a glimmer of mischief in her gaze that Neville had never seen before. Seamus and Ron exchanged baffled looks. 

Seamus smirked, “Now we’re gettin bold.”

All twenty cauldrons were occupied by the Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Harry barely glanced their way as they all worked on their Swelling Solution potion. 

Despite keeping to himself, Snape was quickly berating Neville and Seamus’ cauldron, calling it abysmal.

“Bloody Gryffindorks can’t do anything right!” Harry called out, causing Neville to tense up.

He turned to glare at him intently as some of the Slytherins laughed at his misfortune. _I thought we were past this!_ Harry winked at him so quick he nearly missed it entirely. 

Snape, who would normally ignore a jeer from a Slytherin, made his way over to Harry’s cauldron. His hatred for Harry surpassed House loyalty.

“Potter, you have no room to talk. This runny potion is an embarrassment.” Snape was saying.

Now that his back was turned, Seamus whispered, “Here we go…” 

He waved his wand at it in an attempt to conjure some sort of fire or explosion. It never required much effort. This time, however, nothing happened. Seamus frowned, trying to figure out how to make it explode or at least set on fire.

Neville glanced up. Snape was going to come over soon. 

“Hurry up!” Neville hissed out.

Seamus, who face was beat red, appearing almost frantic, spat out. “I’m trying! I’m—”

It started as a fizzle and then, just as those at their table took shelter underneath, an explosion occurred, showering the whole class with the swelling solution. Lavender, and Parvati who were unfortunately behind them got a face full of the potion. Parvati’s cheeks swelled up three times its normal size. 

Neville noticed that Draco’s nose was impacted. It began to swell its normal size. Harry had thrown his robe over him so he was spared. Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate. 

Snape was moving about the class, trying to restore calm and find out what happened. Through the confusion, Neville spotted Hermione slip quietly into Snape’s office.

“Silence! SILENCE!” Snape roared. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Daft!” 

Neville tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head dropping with the weight of his swollen nose. As half the class lumbered up to Snape’s desk, some weighed down with arms like clubs, and others unable to talk with their puffy lips, Neville noticed Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

Neville, Seamus, and Ron got up from under the table finally as the last of the antidote was given. Snape swiftly turned toward Seamus’ table now, glancing in Ron and Hermione’s cauldron and then the one in front of Seamus and Neville. His eyes narrowed considerably.

“How can two students be so inept that they would cause an explosion with a simple potion? Fifteen points will be taken from Gryffindor for being utterly and hopelessly incompetent.” Snape hissed out angrily.

Neville and Seamus hung their heads as though ashamed but both were secretly smirking. 

“Suspicious that Potter thought so quickly by covering his head with his robes. Even if his hands did swell to the size of his ego.” Snape drawled. “And how lucky that Neville’s table sucked so quickly.”

Neville bit his lip, imagining the suspicious glare that the professor was sending them.

“If I find out that something...was done on purpose,” Snape whispered, “I will be sure to _make sure_ that person is expelled. 

When Neville turned toward the Professor he was unexpectedly glaring at Harry, who stared at him with what appeared to be a puzzled expression. The bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

“Well that was a chancer if I ever saw one.” Seamus quietly when they were a good distance away.

“Nothing can be proven…” Neville said, hoping that was true.

“Where are we going?” Ron asked suddenly. 

“The classroom we met last year with Harry.” She said primly. 

Neville couldn’t seem to see the doorway until he was closer. He blinked slightly as they approached. Hermione opened the door and they piled in and shut it behind them. She went to the cauldron and stirred the new ingredients in.

“No one ever uses this classroom.” She explained.

It certainly was interesting that he and Harry had somehow happened to find it. He couldn’t help but wonder, then, about the events pertaining to the mirror. It was almost like he had purposely moved it there. _Had Dumbledore meant for me to find that mirror so that I could learn how to use it, knowing that later that year I’d face Voldemort? _The notion sent chills down his spine.

“It will be done in two weeks.” Hermione announced happily.

“Can’t bloody wait.” Ron grumbled as the potion frothed and bubbled.

"Just in time for Christmas." Neville absentmindedly stated.

Later that day, Neville passed Harry in the corridors and passed a note he surreptitiously scribbled on a tiny piece of parchment, “_All good. Two more weeks’ time.” _

_Let’s just hope no one is attacked before we can find more answers. _He thought to himself.

Draco had become more elusive since the night they caught the meeting with his father. They were all convinced that he knew more than he let on. Neville was determined to find out what he and his slimy father was up to.


	8. The boy who spoke to snakes.

Once Draco emptied the contents of his stomach, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shakily stood up. He washed his hands, his face, and pulled out a tiny bottle of mouthwash he always had on him and rinsed out his mouth. He was taught that having a clean mouth was important. Smelling foul was a sign of being poor, according to his mother.

When he finished, he pressed his hands into the sides of the sink, his head hanging low as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He jumped slightly when he heard a giggle behind him. He turned quickly; his wand already pulled from his robes.

“Put that away. You can’t harm me. I’m already dead.” A gloomy voice said.

“Oh, right.” He said once he realized that she was a ghost. She was squat, with lank hair, pimples and thick glasses. 

He put away his wand and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I’m Myrtle. And who might you be?” The girly giggle returned as she spoke. 

“I’m Draco.” He purposely left off his last name.

“Ooh. I like that name.” She quietly stated. “Why did you come in here? This is a girl’s toilet.” 

“It was the first one I saw and no one ever comes here.”

Her face distorted with a sudden fury. “Of course not! Why would they come here with me here? I know what they call me! Ugly, Moaning Myrtle. She’s dead can’t possibly hurt her feelings!” There was an edge to her voice.

Draco raised his brows but didn’t interrupt. 

“Yes, well, you’re not the only one who gets avoided.” He said only after she had finished.

Her face softened a bit. “There’s no way _you_ get picked on. You are far too handsome.” She cooed. 

His pale face reddened. For once he did not have a cocky response.

“I certainly am not picked on,” he began stiffly. “I’m always letting people down, especially my father and my best friend.” He slumped his shoulders sadly.

“Ooh. Well you can always stay here with me. I’ll always listen.” She batted her lashes at him.

Draco stared at her incredulously, baffled by the way she batted her lashes at him.

“Uh thanks.” He said in an awkward way he wasn’t familiar with. “I’ve got to—” He pointed toward the door and rushed back out into the corridor, vowing to himself to steer clear of that toilet from then on.

Draco started to spend a ridiculous amount of time avoiding everyone. Father _had_ told him to lay low. Plus, he was ashamed of the harsh way he breathed and the unseen bruises on his chest. They were a constant reminder that he let his father down _again_. The family name was being tarnished because of him. _Why can’t I do anything right?_ He had wondered.

Even his mother seemed to be fed up with him. Father had told him that _neither_ of them wanted him to come home for the Christmas holiday. He was going to have to stay at school like a reject. He loathed the humiliation of it all. 

He went to his classes and the rare times he ate; it was away from his fellow classmates. He no longer wanted to converse with anyone. 

The one rare time he was studying in the common room, he felt a weight next to him on the couch. He turned his head toward Pansy who was dying him with furrowed brows. 

“What in Salazar’s name is wrong with you lately?” She demanded.

“What _ever_ do you mean?” He asked in a feigned innocent tone. 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, “You don’t fool me, Draco Malfoy. What is wrong with you?”

He forced an exasperated sigh. “Pansy, I am fine. I have been focusing on my studies.” He stated. “After all, it's only the Mudbloods that are in danger.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

She smirked. “Well stop studying so hard. It is not the same without you. Everyone is over the whole Quidditch thing so if that’s what you’re moping over, _do_ get over yourself already.” She rolled her eyes at him.

He scuffed, “It was the Bludger that hit him, not me. The whole thing was unfounded. I was _going _to tell father but I wasn’t about to bother him about something as petty as Quidditch.”

“There’s the Draco I know and _adore_. Marcus says you’ve been skipping practice. Petty or not you need to stop being a git and avoiding people.” She lectured in a frustratingly uppity tone.

“Yes, mum.” He mocked.

She giggled incessantly. “You are so sodding lame!”

He rolled his eyes and scuffed but he was secretly thankful for her intervention.

Things started to look up. He hung around Pansy, teasing the lesser students and all around being rightfully superior to others. Crabbe and Goyle often joined in, surrounding the insignificant students while he and Pansy found new ways to torment them.

They favored one girl in particular. She was a disgusting ginger from their year. She looked like a tiny, annoying owl. They followed her around making owl noises from behind her. She had some sort of strange muggle device that she placed something fat, shiny and round into. She placed something that looked like earmuffs in her ears. Apparently, she quietly listened to music in it. Muggle music. It was so disturbing that one day they pulled the earmuffs right off her ears. Startled, she dropped he Muggle contraption onto the ground. Goyle accidentally on purpose stomped on it until it shattered into pieces. They burst out laughing.

“You should go back to your Muggle family, Mudblood. You aren’t welcome here.” Draco spat. 

The Mudblood ran off crying. Another round of laughter filled the corridors. It was so hilarious; Draco nearly lost his footing entirely. He almost didn’t miss Harry. Almost. 

Days later, he found out that she was petrified. This certainly didn’t help Slytherin’s reputation. Nor did it soothe Harry’s anger toward him. Ridiculous speculations were whispered in the corridors. 

Weaselette shot daggers at him with her bloodshot eyes as she passed. Apparently, she was good friends with the Mudblood. It was unsurprising considering her family of blood traitors. The appearance of the muted, distraught looking ginger caught him off guard.

He stared after her, briefly wondering if her brothers noticed that anything was wrong. _They probably lose track of each other being there are so many of them. _He snickered to himself despite the uneasiness that settled within him He hadn’t a clue why. It’s not like _he_ cared. It was just all rather unsettling.

He was a bit afraid that the connection between him and the Mudblood attacked would get back to his father. He would not view it as laying low. _Am I supposed to just not inform Mudbloods of their place anymore? _He thought indignity. Luckily, no word was sent his way.

_Mother isn’t sending treats anymore either. _He thought sadly. They had snubbed him in a true Malfoy fashion. The night of his meeting with his father he had begged his father to let him help but his father had not relented. Draco just wanted to be in their good graces again._ I have to, somehow. There has to be a way_.

In the second week of December, Professor Snape came around collecting names of those staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday. When Draco added his name to the list, he could have sworn there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. Draco pointedly ignored it. _It’s not his concern or business. _He thought stiffly. 

Of all the Slytherins, only he, Potter, Crabbe and Goyle were staying at school for Christmas. He was rather glad he wasn’t alone but he had been hoping that Pansy was staying as well. He wished Potter was going home. He hated looking at his stupid face. It reminded him that they were no longer friends.

“No, sorry darling we have our yearly holiday trip. Such a drag.” Pansy had rolled her eyes dramatically. 

Draco knew better. She loved those trips, especially the shopping. He was a bit thankful Blaise and Theo weren’t staying. They had been especially obnoxious after the last Mudblood was petrified. They cautioned everyone to leave the remaining Mudbloods alone so that they wouldn’t be seen as sympathizers to the Heir of Slytherin’s plight or some rubbish like that. He wasn’t listening nor did he care. Blaise sent him a dark look. When Draco pointed out that “Mudbloods should take the hint and leave”; for a moment it looked like Blaise was going to hex him. Of course, he didn’t. _My father would have a say in that._ He told himself even though he didn’t quite believe it. Potter had glared at him intently but remained silent. Draco chose to ignore both of them. _Some people can’t not handle the truth_. 

He heard that the Mudblood, Longbottom and Weasel were staying. _Great. _He gritted his teeth irritably.

He hadn’t interacted with the lot of them much. He pointedly stayed out of Longbottom's way. He didn’t want to stir things up more than he already had with the petrified Mudblood.

There were times they made it nearly impossible. One day in Potions, that bloody git, Finnigan, had blown up his potion, showering the classroom with the contents of an engorging potion. Everyone was affected sans a few key students. Longbottom, and Finnigan quickly dove under their desks. He hasn’t seen the Mudblood until near the end of the class. She looked a bit flushed but other than that unscathed. Potter had thrown his cloak over him so only his hands were engorged. He thought it was awfully suspicious. It was as though they knew it was going to happen. _Did they plan this?_ He had thought. _But why?_

Only Snape seemed to be suspicious. None of the other idiot Gryffindors nor did the other Slytherins suspected them. They just thought they were that thick.

Draco agreed that the Gryffindors were gits but even he knew better than to underestimate their ability to scheme. They were just always seen as innocent. Even Saint Potter was not suspected by others, despite being a Slytherin. _Probably because he’s a Gryffindor lover._ Slytherins assumed he was cunning with quick reflexes. Irritatingly enough, Potter got on with Blaise and Theo after that. 

“Potter and his stupid Gryffindor mates are up to something, I swear to Salazar, they are!” He had exclaimed that night in the common room when Potter was out doing Salazar knew what.

“Oh Merlin, not this again.” Pansy sighed. She pressed her index and middle fingers against her temples as she often did when he complained about Potter. “Please stop obsessing, darling it is most unbecoming.”

“I am _not _obsessing!” He snapped. “I am right! Mark my words! They did that bloody explosion on purpose. Did you see how that Finnigan tried not to laugh? Or how Potter barely got hit?”

“Do yourself a favor and shut up, Malfoy. You are nothing but a whining peacock with money. You’ll do well to leave Potter alone.” Theo warned.

Draco scowled, “You have no influence while _my _family has plenty. I’d hate to have to tell my father you’re threatening me in such an uncouth manner.” 

“Someday you won’t be able to hide behind your father anymore and then we will see how you fare.” Theo simply stated.

It unnerved Draco only because he knew that it could easily come true and he _knew _he would not fare well without the protection of his father and his family name. He avoided the whole lot of them, after that. 

A week after signing the dreadful list, he, Crabbe and Goyle saw a piece of parchment announcing the formation of a Dueling Club.

“Bloody fantastic!” Draco exclaimed. “I hope those Gryffindors join. Any excuse to validly knock them on their arses, especially Longbottom.” It wasn’t like he was allowed to otherwise bother him.

Crabbe and Goyle snorted with laughter, nodding their heads with stupid smirks slapped across their fat faces.

At 8 P.M. he, Crabbe and Goyle headed to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black. Most of the school had congregated around the golden stage, all carrying their wands and talking excitedly among themselves.

“I wonder who's teaching us. I hope it’s Snape.” Draco excitedly uttered.

His face fell when that buffoon Lockhart walked onto the stage resplendent in deep plum robes and accompanied by Snape, who wore his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions. For full details, see my published works.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What a git. Bloody Lockhart. Let’s hope Snape finishes him off.” Crabbe and Goyle snickered.

“Shut it, Malfoy. Snape could never finish off Lockhart. He’s amazing.” hissed an airhead Gryffindor he was quite sure was named Lavender or something ridiculous like it.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“One can still hope…” Draco whispered, earning him another glare from the Gryffindor plant.

“One — two — three —” 

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “_Expelliarmus_!”

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet, flying backward off the stage and smashed into a wall. He slid down it and sprawled on the floor. 

Draco and the other Slytherins cheered. “I hope he’s down for the night.” Draco said.

“Do you think he’s all right?” He heard the insufferable Mudblood Granger say from a distance. 

He snickered. _Bleeding heart Mudblood._ He thought to himself. Lockhart unsteadily got to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm, as you see, I’ve lost my wand” 

The plant handed the buffoon his wand. 

“Ah, thank you, Miss Brown 

“Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see...” 

Snape was looking murderous. Perhaps the clueless git finally noticed because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come among you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me —” 

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Weasel with Justin Hufflepuff-with-the-ridiculously-long-last-name. He was probably about to pair Longbottom with Finnigan but Snape got there first. 

“Time to split up the dream team, I think.” He sneered. “Finnigan—can be paired with Potter.” Granger was already inching toward Neville. “I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly. “Granger, you can partner with Miss Bulstrode.” Draco snickered at the way the Mudblood smiled at her nervously. Millicent sent her an intimidating glare. “Mr. Malfoy come over here. Let’s see what you can make of the famous Longbottom.” Draco strutted over to him, smirking.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform.

“And bow!” Draco barely inclined his head, not taking his eyes off of Longbottom. The other lad bowed and then stared intently back at Draco, focused.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents. Remember, only to disarm them since we don’t want any accidents! One . . . two . . . three —”

Longbottom, playing the hero as usual, swung his wand high. Draco, knowing better, shouted, “_Everte Statum!_” at two. Longbottom stumbled backwards, his face hilariously contorting in pain. Draco smirked in satisfaction as the lump landed on his ass.

While sitting, Longbottom pointed his wand at Draco and shouted, “_Rictusempra_!” A jet silver light hit Draco in the gut and he bent over, breathless. 

He sank to his knees, unable to stop laughing from the Tickling Charm cast on him. _Blast that Longbottom! _He noticed that Longbottom pulled himself back to his feet. 

Despite gasping for breaths between giggles, he choked out, “_Tarantallegra_!” Longbottom’s legs hilariously started to jerk out of control in a kind of quickstep.

Lockhart screamed out, “Stop! Stop!” Snape took charge, shouting, “_Finite Incantatem!_”

Draco stopped laughing and Longbottom’s legs stopped dancing and he pumped back down to the ground. Breathless, the pair glared at each other, enraged. He was vaguely aware of the other people around him, and the green smoke rising above them, but he didn’t dare look away from Longbottom.

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. 

He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair. Finnigan and Potter, how about you —” 

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over to the unfortunate pair. “Finnigan causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Potter up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.” Finnigan flushed red, causing Draco to snicker. “How about Malfoy and Longbottom?” said Snape with a twisted smile. 

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Longbottom and Draco to the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

“Now, Neville,” said Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do _this_.” 

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops! My wand is a little overexcited —” 

Snape approached Draco, bent down and whispered, “Be creative, Draco. Think of Slytherin.” 

He stood back up and backed away. Draco thought for a moment and then smirked smugly at Longbottom, who looked nervous.

“Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?” He asked anxiously.

“Aw is the little Longbottom scared? Poor boy who cowered.” He mocked.

“I am not scared of you, Malfoy.” He growled out. 

Draco hitched a brow, not expecting such a forceful remark from Longbottom. “Ah, grow a backbone, did you?” He smirked.

Lockhart, who wasn’t paying attention, patted Longbottom on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Neville!” It looked like Longbottom was about to answer but the buffoon, oblivious as ever, shouted, “Three--two--one--go!”

Draco raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “_Serpensortia_!”

The end of his wand exploded and a long, black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them. It raised itself, ready to strike. Draco watched it, mesmerized, smirking at the screams in the background. He glanced up at Longbottom who watched, aghast.

“Don’t move, Longbottom.” said Snape lazily. Much to Draco’s amusement, he seemed to be enjoying the way Longbottom stood motionless, eye to eye with the snake.

“I’ll get rid of it!” Jumped in the useless professor. “Allow me!” He shouted. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang. 

The snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back onto the ground with a loud smack. Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Hufflepuff-with-the-ridiculously-long-last-name. The snake raised itself up again, fangs exposed, poised to attack.

Then, out of nowhere, Longbottom made indistinguishable hissing noises at the snake. It sounded like he was egging him on. Draco’s gaze went from staring at the snake with fascination to gaping at Longbottom in shock. _What in Salazar’s name is going on? He’s a Parselmouth? How is that possible?_

He thought for sure the snake was going to attack the other lad. He wasn’t sure what his blood status was but he looked annoying enough that he sort of hoped the snake would bite him on the nose or something equally hilarious. After a few moments, the snake slumped to the floor, it’s gaze still locked with Longbottom’s. Once he drew his gaze away, he turned toward Justin the annoying Hufflepuff and smiled at him.

_Well that is bloody interesting. _Draco thought. Perhaps he had been pretending to be good the whole time and he was a dark wizard after all. He had to owl his father immediately about this.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Justin the annoying Hufflepuff was shouting.

Draco and some of the other Slytherin cracked up as he dramatically stomped off. _Huff huff, Hufflepuff. _He thought, bemused.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape stared at Longbottom with a shrewd and calculating look as though he was trying to make heads or tails of the whole thing. Longbottom appeared to be baffled.

Finnigan tugged on Longbottom’s robes and pulled him way. The Mudblood and Weasel followed. He turned to Potter, who simply glared at him and hurried on after them. Draco was tempted to follow but at this point, he didn’t want to publicly associated with someone who spoke Parseltongue. They might have connected him with the Chamber of Secrets and he knew that was not what his father wanted. 

_Does father know about this? It is clear he knows more than he lets on. _He thought, irritated by the mystery surrounding it all. Longbottom looked so confused Draco wasn’t sure he realized he was speaking Parseltongue, which was ridiculous notion for a Pureblood. Then again, he was surrounded by blood traitors who probably didn’t bother passing down their traditions, rendering them almost as useless as Mudbloods.

He paid no heed to anyone else as he turned and quickly exited the Great Hall. He headed toward the owlery to send his father an owl.

_The boy who lived is a Parselmouth._

_-D_

He hoped that this new information would make his father proud of him. Maybe he would tell him more about The Chamber of Secrets. He _knew _his father was keeping things from him. Sometimes he wondered if it was his father who was the Heir of Slytherin. _He would have told me that, right? _He wasn’t so sure. His father was too afraid of him rising suspicions. He could help._ If father isn’t the Heir, he probably knows who the Heir of Slytherin is. Why wouldn’t he let me help_? He kicked at the ground and headed back to the Slytherin common room.

Quite a few Slytherins of all years were present in the common room. Everyone was chattering about what happened at the Dueling Club. Draco plopped down on the couch, irritably, scowling at the fireplace.

“Longbottom? The Heir of Slytherin? That is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.” Blaise was saying behind him. 

“You heard him! He’s a Parselmouth!” Daphne excitedly stated.

“That miserable lump is as malevolent as a grass snake.” Theo interjected.

“Seriously. He is pathetic. And anyone who believes otherwise is a fool.” Pansy said. “Don’t be a fool, Daph.” 

“Ugh. It would be sort of exciting if he was, though. Assumed useless lump is actually the mastermind of Chamber of Secrets. Mudbloods beware!” She giggled gleefully at the notion.

“No, it would be embarrassing.” Everyone turned toward the large girl in the armchair. “He’s pathetic and our house would look weak as a result.” Millicent spoke up.

Silence filled the room for several moments.

“Then who is it?” Theo questioned.

“I don’t know but I don’t like that it is on us. Believe what you will about Muggle-borns but harming them is never a just solution. It won’t end well--for any of us and it won’t help our reputation.” Terence Higgs, a fair-haired third year that used to be their Quidditch Seeker, stated. 

“Mudbloods should not be allowed at this school but they should not be harmed either.” Blaise spoke up. 

Some agreed, while others did not. There were many who thought the blood purist beliefs was utter nonsense and the Heir of Slytherin needed to be found and stopped immediately. The latter baffled Draco. He had no idea there were so many Mudblood sympathizers within his own house. It was disgusting. The presence of Mudbloods was tainting their very way of thinking. Tolerance was spreading, just as his father had feared.

The more Draco thought of it, however, the more he agreed with what Blaise said. The Mudbloods had no right to be there but harming them was not right. Yet, he also knew that he’d do anything to help his father with the Chamber of Secrets, regardless of the nature of his involvement. He couldn’t help but feel torn between what was right and making his father finally proud of him. He decided against speaking out either way.

“Well, I can sleep easy in knowing that it isn’t Longbottom.” Draco said sarcastically as he stood up and yawned dramatically.

“Oh yes, quite.” Blaise agreed with a smirk.

Draco headed up to the dormitory, exhausted. He glanced around for Potter but he was not there. He supposed he was still with the Gryffindors. He scowled at the notion. He went to bed irritated by the whole ordeal.

He received a response from his father the following morning.

_Interesting. Do not get involved. Observe. Report._

To him, his father’s words hinted at a mission, specifically given to him. He smirked, gleaming with self-importance. Perhaps he was finally on his father’s good side again.

Outside of the Slytherins, quite a few blithering morons believed that Longbottom was Heir of Slytherin. It was an absurd accusation but it was rather entertaining to see Longbottom so miserable. 

Naturally, Longbottom was blamed when Justin the annoying Hufflepuff was petrified a couple days later. Everyone had already been talking about the incident at the Dueling Club. The dramatic Hufflepuff swore to Godric that Longbottom was after him because he let it slip that he was Muggleborn. _Has he been confounded? _He wondered at first. 

Unfortunately, the git was serious and quite a few other students also believed it. 

Longbottom did not help matters by being seen at the scene of the crime. The Hufflepuffs claimed that Longbottom stood over Justin’s petrified frame with a victorious, hungry look in his eyes, as though he himself was possessed. Ridiculous, obviously, but Draco had already given up hope for the Hufflepuffs in general. 

He heard Longbottom was summoned to see Dumbledore himself. Draco hoped that the Professor had more sense than that. The last thing they needed was that overgrown buffoon taking credit for the attacks and sullying the Slytherin name. He still owled his father about it immediately. This time he did not reply. Draco remained alert for any further clues that would shed light on the situation.

It had been a week since the attack and the nervousness surrounding the events turned into panic. People who were originally staying signed up to go home for the Christmas holiday in droves. Draco wished he could leave so he could escape the mindless chatter of the morons jumping at their own shadows. It almost took the joy out of darting out in front of them when they rounded the corner because they would have probably screamed whether he was there or not. 

He scowled at the gaggle of Hufflepuffs as they sat whispering to each other and sending him conspiratorial glances. _Morons._ He thought. 

He glanced Potter sitting with the annoying Gryffindor gits. He seemed to have abandoned the Slytherins all together in favour of the bloody Gryffindors. This annoyed Draco more than all of the simpleton Hufflepuffs put together. 

He shoved his books in his bag and got. up. He couldn’t concentrate anymore. It was the day before exams and he was already stressed out about it. He could have sworn someone was following him as soon as he left the library. He stopped abruptly and turned. He couldn’t see anyone there but he felt the weight of something ramming into him.

He stumbled a few paces backwards, a scowl ready set onto his lips. He quickly reached forward and grasped at the air. Sure enough, it was the invisibility cloak. Seething, he pulled it roughly off of Potter.

“You’re as subtle as an exploding snap, Potter.” He spat out vehemently.

“Shut it, Malfoy.” He growled with a fire in his eyes.

“Why are you following me?” Draco asked.

“I know you’re up to something. I haven’t figured it out yet but I know.”

Draco’s brows perked considerably. “Have you completely lost your mind? Did knocking into me cause head trauma?” He returned, bewildered.

Potter didn’t bother answering. He turned and stalked back to the library with his clenched fists at his side. Draco could not help but stare after him. _How long has he been following me? How much does he know?_ The thought was unsettling to say the least.

Somehow, he managed to pass all of his exams before the end of term. Despite being condemned to spend Christmas at Hogwarts; he couldn’t help but be relieved for the holiday and that the majority of the school went home. Actual peace and quiet, however, was probably too much to ask for.


	9. Crabbe and Goyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was yet another delay. I focused on finishing the book and am now in the process of editing to post the chapters! I've already started writing book 3! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

When another student was found petrified, panic swept through the corridors. They had found her in one of the girl’s lavatories. She was laying by the sink, her Muggle ‘makeup kit’, dropped into it and opened. Neville didn’t know her personally but he quickly learned that she was a Second Year, Muggle-born, Ravenclaw, named Lisa Turpin. She was added to the growing number of beds filling the Hospital wing. 

He soon learned that Ginny was her mate despite the fact that Ginny was a year younger and sorted into a different house. She was so distraught about the whole thing she had mostly ceased from speaking. Every time Neville saw her, she appeared distant, and trance-like. 

He thought she ought to go to the Hospital wing and get checked out by a Mind Healer. She was only a first year, after all. It was quite a load to deal with. When Neville suggested this to Ron, he scuffed.

“She’ll be alright. We’ve been through worse and we’re alright, yeah?” He reasoned.

_Speak for yourself. You didn’t even face Voldemort._ He thought to himself bitterly. He did have a point; he was doing alright. Harry was the one he worried about. He sighed to himself. _Ron knows Ginny better than I do, though._

He put it in the back of his mind as he made his way down to the Greenhouse. He was hoping Professor Sprout was there so that he could talk to her about the Mandrakes. They continued to mature but he had been hoping they were able to get a hold of the potion by now. 

When he arrived, he knocked on the door, waiting. As luck would have it, the door opened. She had puffy pink earmuffs around her neck. 

She smiled, “Oh, hello Neville. I didn’t expect you today.” 

He nodded his head slightly. “Hello. Uh Professor, I was wondering about the potion that would wake up those petrified...did you ever order any?”

Her face darkened a moment as she sighed. “We did, Neville, but even the potion takes time. It is not easily preserved. It should be here shortly after Christmas break.” 

Neville’s face fell. “Oh. Still seems like a long time.” He thought of something then. “What are you telling their Muggle parents?” 

She turned as pink as her earmuffs, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. We are taking care of it!” 

Neville narrowed his gaze, not liking the way she was avoiding answering the question. The lack of concerned parental figures, including Gran, that suggested they were none the wiser. 

“Are you not telling anyone?” He asked without thinking. 

She frowned at him, “Stop worrying, we will restore everyone soon enough. I’m sure Dumbledore will be announcing new safety rules at dinner.” She said to him stiffly.

“But Professor—what about the Heir of Slytherin?” He pressed.

“Leave it to the adults, Neville. This is not something a young lad such as yourself should be worrying about.”

“Yet I was the one who fought Voldemort last year!” He exclaimed loudly.

She visibly winced when he said his name. “I have a lot of work to do. Follow the rules, Mr. Longbottom.” She closed the door on him. 

He knocked again but this time there wasn’t an answer. He sighed as he walked away, dejected.

Neville met up with Seamus, Ron, and Hermione in the library. He explained his conversation with Professor Sprout, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice. 

After a moment of silence, Ron spoke up. “Malfoy had been tormenting Lisa Turpin right before she was attacked. The sooner we are able to use the Polyjuice and prove Malfoy is guilty the better.”

Neville grit his teeth. “Malfoy.” He growled out, infuriated not only that he was most likely controlling the monster but that he spent his time tormenting the poor girl.

“Soon we will be able to prove it and the attacks will stop.” Hermione stated.

“But how many more will be attacked before then?” Seamus interjected with furrowed brows.

There was no easy answer that.

At dinner they kept waiting for Dumbledore to put some sort of precaution up for them but they were disappointed to find out that no such thing took place.

The second week of December they announced the Dueling Club. Neville was less than enthused. He thought they should focus on ending the attacks but the professors pretended like things were normal. _Perhaps they had figured it out already_. Neville scuffed at his own thoughts. It somehow seemed unlikely. 

The night of the Dueling Club Neville had a strong sense of foreboding. His worries ended up being justified. Malfoy summoned a snake while they were dueling with Malfoy. It looked like it was going to attack Justin Finch-Fletchley. Without thinking, Neville stepped in and told the snake to leave him alone. The snake slumped to the floor obediently. Neville glanced at Justin, expecting him to be grateful but he appeared to be agitated and frightened.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Justin retorted and then stormed out. 

Neville, struck bewildered, became vaguely aware of being pulled out of the room. The rest of the students slunk away from him as they passed, as though they were afraid of catching something.

They quickly led him into an empty classroom. He quickly realized that Harry had joined them.

“You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?” Ron demanded.

“I’m a what?” exclaimed Neville.

“A _Parselmouth!_” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!”

“I know I can talk to snakes. I tried to tell Gran but she didn’t believe me. She said no one could talk to snakes so I didn’t bring it up again.” Neville said simply. “I didn’t realize it was a language.”

“It’s not a common gift, but it exists.” Harry was staring at him with an unreadable look. “This is bad.” He added after a few moments.

“What’s bad?” Neville snapped. “What is wrong with everyone? If I hadn’t told the snake not to attack Justin—”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?” Seamus spoke up.

“What do you mean? You were there; you all were.”

“Aye, we heard you speak Parseltongue. You could have been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked. It sounded like you were egging it on or somethin’.” Seamus explained.

“It was creepy, you know…” Ron inserted with a shudder.

Neville stared at them, jaw ajar. “I spoke another language without knowing I could speak it?” He furrowed his brows in thought.

“Aye, seems so.” Seamus confirmed somberly.

“Salazar Slytherin was known for speaking to snakes. That’s why the symbol for the Slytherin House is a snake.” Harry spoke up.

Ron, Seamus, and Neville exchanged shocked looks. Hermione, whose face had paled, didn’t appear surprised at all.

“With everything that’s floating about the Heir of Slytherin; people might think it is you.” Hermione spoke in a hushed tone.

“B-but I’m not.” Neville stammered out, fear creeping up in his throat.

“It might be hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all you know you could be.”

“But I’m not sicking some monster on people!” He exclaimed venomously.

“I know.” Harry replied. 

“At least not on purpose.” Murmured Ron. 

He shrank away from Neville’s glare. The others avoided eye contact with him. 

“If you think he’s the Heir of Slytherin and summoning some monster whether on purpose or not, then you’re all thicker than I thought. I’ve known him my whole life. It’s not Neville.” Harry insisted.

Harry tugged on Neville’s arm, pulling him out of the room. Neville turned away from the uncertain faces of his so-called friends and let him lead him without objection.

As soon as they were far enough away; Harry slipped the invisibility cloak over them and led him down the corridor until they reached the room where they were brewing the Polyjuice potion. He tugged the cloak off of them. Neville plopped down, devastated by his friend’s suspicions.

Harry sat down beside him, allowing silence to fill the space between them.

Finally, he pulled something out of his robes. “Exploding Snap?” 

Neville sent him a slight smile and nodded his head. 

They played until it was close to curfew. Later, once Neville was in bed, he couldn’t help but doubt himself. _What if I’m doing it without realizing?_ He shuddered at the notion.

T_he Sorting Hat had teetered between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. It hadn’t even mentioned Slytherin so there is no way it is me. Right? _He wasn’t so sure. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep.

He had resolved to explain the situation to Justin the next day in Herbology. By the next morning, however, the snow, that had begun in the night, had turned into a blizzard so thick the last Herbology lesson of the term was cancelled. Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes. It was a tricky situation that she entrusted to no one else since they were a backup to the potion they had ordered.

Neville, still worried about what Justin thought, set out to find him. The castle was darker than it usually was in the daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering, Neville walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snippets of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger.

Believing the Hufflepuffs were using the extra time to study in the library; he headed in that direction. Sure enough, a group of Hufflepuffs were sitting in the back of the library. Oddly enough, they didn’t appear to be working. Their heads were huddled close together as they engaged in what appeared to be an absorbing conversation. He wasn’t sure if Justin was there but they might know where he was.

As he approached, some of what they were saying met his ears. He paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section. 

“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean, if Longbottom has marked him down as his next victim, it’s best he lay low for a while. Of course, Justin had been waiting for something like this ever since he let it slip that he was Muggle-born. Justin actually _told _him he was down for Eton. Not the sort of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s Heir on the loose.”

“You definitely think it _is _Longbottom, then? He’s always seemed harmless. Shy and clumsy, that one.” A girl with blonde pigtails skeptically stated.

“Hannah, he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Salazar Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.” 

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Longbottom had some sort of run-in with Filch and found out that he was a Squib. Next thing we know, Filch’s cat’s attacked. I heard Lockhart talking about that first year, Creevey, pestering Longbottom for a signed photograph. Next thing we know---Creevey’s been attacked.” 

“He always seems so nice, though,” Hannah said, “and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?” 

As Ernie lowered his voice, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Neville edged nearer so that he could catch his words. 

“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord _competing_ with him. I wonder what other powers Longbottom’s been hiding under his clumsy facade?” 

Neville couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat rather loudly as he stepped from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn’t been so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him a bit humorous. Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the colour was draining from Ernie’s face.

“Hello.” said Neville. “I’m looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.” 

The Hufflepuffs’ worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie. 

“What do you want with him?” said Ernie in a quivering voice.

“I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club.” He explained.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, “We were all there. We saw what happened.” 

“Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?” Neville countered. 

“All I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.”

“I didn’t chase it at him!” Neville exclaimed, his voice shaking with anger. “I told it to leave him alone!” 

It was a very near miss,” said Ernie. “And in case you’re getting ideas,” he added hastily, “I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so —”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” Neville retorted fiercely. “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?”

“I don’t know but you sure hang around a lot with that Harry Potter. He’s a Slytherin and we all know what _they’re _like.” Ernie stated.

“You don’t know a thing about Harry or the Slytherins!” Neville snapped loudly.

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproachful glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spell book.

Neville swiftly made his way down the corridor, inwardly fuming at the interaction at the library. He came to a sudden stop when he ran into something very large and solid, knocking him back onto the floor.

“Oh, hello, Hagrid.” Neville glanced up at the giant figure.

Hagrid’s face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

“All righ’, Neville?” He said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. “Why aren’t yeh in class?”

“It was canceled.” He said as he stood up. “What are you doing in here?”

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

“Second one killed this term.” He explained. “It’s either foxes or a Blood-Suckin’ Bugbear, an’ I need the Headmaster’s permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.”

He peered more closely at Neville, giving him a scrutinizing look. 

“Yeh sure ye’re all righ’? Yeh look all hot an’ bothered.”

Neville nodded his head. “Yeah I’m OK. Just feeling a bit cooped up is all.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell him about what the Hufflepuff lot had been saying about him.

“I’d better get going. I have Transfiguration next and I’ve got to pick up my books.” Neville said before talking off, trying to forget what was said about him.

He sighed as he trudged up the stairs and turned along another corridor. It was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane.

He was halfway down the passage when he tripped over something and tumbled over onto his face. He groaned loudly as he rolled over onto his side. He squinted, trying to determine what he’d fallen over. _I’m glad no one was around. _He thought desperately. Considering the fact that he had nearly tripped over Hagrid earlier he momentarily had found himself lucky.

His stomach dropped like an anvil when he realized what he had tripped over, all remnants of optimism melting like snow in the warm sun.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold with a look of shock frozen on his face. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. There was a pool of watery melted snow nearby.

Neville scrambled to his feet, his breaths fast and shallow and his heart beating out of his chest. He glanced around the empty corridor wildly. He spotted a line of spiders scuttling away as fast as they could from the body. The only sounds were the muffled voices of professors from the classes in either side.

He considered running; no one would know he was there. _I can’t just leave him here_. He had to get help. _Will they believe I’m innocent?_ He bit down on his lower lip, consumed by uncertainty.

A door opened with a bang, causing Neville to jump. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

“Oh, it’s not so wee Longbottom!” Cackled Peeves. “Why is Longbottom lurkin about?” He was encircling him, and jumping about, hoping to make him lose his footing as he often did.

Peeves stopped mid-somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Neville could interject, bellowed, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO ONE IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATAACK!”

Doors crashed open at the outcries and people flooded out. For several long moments, there was such a commotion that Justin was nearly stomped on. Neville pinned himself to the wall, hoping no one would notice him. He contemplated slipping away. The professors called for quiet to no avail. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her class, one of whom still had black and white striped hair. The scene had cleared a little by the time Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

“Caught in the act!” Ernie called out; his face stark white as he pointed an accusing finger at Neville.

“That will do, Macmillan!” Professor McGonagall said sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, grinning wickedly as he surveyed the scene. He thrived on chaos. As professors examined Justin’s petrified form, Peeves broke into song:

_Oh, Neville, you devil, oh, what have you done,_

_You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun—”_

“That’s enough, Peeves!” Professor McGonagall barked.

Peeves zoomed away backwards and stuck his tongue out at Neville playfully.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department.

Professor McGonagall ushered everyone else out of the corridor, leaving only her and Neville.

“This way, Mr. Longbottom.” She said.

“Professor, I swear I didn’t—-” he began.

“This is out of my hands, Longbottom.” She curtly replied.

They marched in silence around a corner. She stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle

“Lemon drop!” she said. 

This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Neville heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, until at last, Neville saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin._ This must be where Dumbledore lives_.

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Neville to wait a moment.

Neville glanced around. One thing was certain, of all the professor’s offices he had visited so far this year, Dumbledore’s was by far the most interesting. If he hadn’t been scared out of his wits that he was about to be kicked out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames.

There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard’s hat — the Sorting Hat. He eyed it curiously; he had never witnessed it outside of the Sorting Ceremony. He sat down in the large cushioned chair in front of the desk, his eyes still wandering about, never failing to find something new to ogle. 

Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him whirl around. He wasn’t alone, after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Neville stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Neville studied it with a frown; it looked rather ill. Its eyes were dull and feathers continued to fall off its tail.

Neville was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore’s pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames. He yelled out in shock. He looked feverishly around for a glass of water somewhere but couldn’t find one. The bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball. It gave one loud shriek and the next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor. 

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber. 

“Professor,” Neville gasped. “Your bird. I couldn’t do anything--he just caught fire---” 

To Neville’s astonishment, Dumbledore smiled. 

“About time, too,” he said. “He’s been looking dreadful for days; I’ve been telling him to get a move on.”

He chuckled at Neville’s stunned expression. “Fawkes is a phoenix. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . .” 

Neville looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was as ugly as the old one.

“It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” said Dumbledore as he seated himself behind his desk. “He’s really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.” 

Neville nodded sagely as he watched the phoenix, transfixed. Before Dumbledore had the chance to speak, a large figure thundered into the Headmaster’s Quarters, his eyes wild. His balaclava was perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster was swinging from his hand.

“It wasn’ Neville, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently. “I was talkin’ ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir —” 

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

“---it can’t’ve bin him; I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’ Magic if I have to---” 

“Hagrid, I---”

“---yeh’ve got the wrong boy, sir, I know Neville never---” 

“Hagrid!” said Dumbledore loudly. “I do not think that Neville attacked those people.”

“Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. “Right. I’ll wait outside then, Headmaster.” 

And he stomped out looking quite embarrassed. 

“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” Neville asked, as he watched Dumbledore brush feathers off his desk.

“No, Neville, I don’t,” said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. “But I still want to talk to you.” 

Neville waited anxiously as Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers pressed together. “I must ask you, Neville, whether there is anything you need to tell me.”

He hesitated, unsure what to say. He thought about Malfoy shouting, “You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” and the simmering of the Polyjuice Potion. He thought of the disembodied voice he heard twice and what everyone had been saying about him. He was starting to wonder if he was connected somehow to Salazar Slytherin, but he wasn’t sure how. The Sorting Hat had never considered him a Slytherin. _Then what was it?_ He thought, with growing dread. _I should say something, anything! _

The words wouldn’t come.

He found himself saying, “No. There isn’t anything, Professor.”

He inwardly groaned at losing his nerve. _Not so brave after all. _He thought sadly. 

The latest attack had students flocking to sign the list to head home for the Christmas holiday with a fervor. 

Hermione, Seamus, and Ron apologized for their doubt after they saw his haunted expression as he explained the events of the attack and the horrible discussion beforehand. Neville quickly forgave them. He wasn’t one to hold grudges.

“You aren’t staying?” Neville perked a brow at Seamus as he passed him the sheet Professor McGonagall was sending around for those staying for the holiday to sign.

Seamus scowled, “No, me mam wants to spend the holiday together since last year they went on that Muggle cruise.” He shrugged. “I begged but there’s no convincin’ her once she’s got her mind set. Let me know yours goes.” He sent Neville a pointed look.

“Will do.” Neville promised.

“Oh, look. It seems like it’s goin’ to be a very Weasley Christmas in the Gryffindor tower!” George grinned mischievously.

Neville, Hermione, and the Weasleys were the only Gryffindors staying at Hogwarts for the winter holiday. 

It turned out to be a rather loud one, at that. The Weasley twins, much to the dismay of their older Prefect brother, Percy, played continual games of Exploding Snap and endlessly pulled pranks using what they had bought at Zonko’s Joke Shop. 

Neville wasn’t much into practical jokes himself but it did distract him from the anxious anticipation of the Polyjuice Potion. He was having his doubts about the whole thing. _How will we pull this off? What if we get caught?_

Christmas morning was full of cheer, presents, and pranks by the Weasley twins. Neville thought that Fred and George were quite a pair. 

They opened up their gifts in the Gryffindor common room since there were so few of them and sans Hermione and Neville, were related to each other.

Gran had bought him a brand new Herbology book, a new scarf and pair of gloves clad in Gryffindor colours. She also bought him a book about Pure-blood etiquette and traditions. The last gift gave Neville an uncertain pause. _Why would she give me_ _something like that?_

The Daily Prophet snippet included with it quickly answered that question. 

**The Daily Prophet**

**Has the ‘The Boy-Who-Lived’, gone awry?**

_A source that would like to remain anonymous, came forward about her run in with Neville Longbottom, The Boy Who Lived, before his second school term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_She recalled that she had been working at Platform 9 ¾ that day, helping families see to the students boarding the train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_“It was a run of the mill day. I cannae recall anything strange about it. That is until after all of the students were loaded onto the train. I saw these two wee lads walking toward me looking bruised and battered. I dinnae realize one of them was Neville Longbottom until after they were long gone._

"_They said that they needed help contacting Hogwarts because they were stranded. When I asked them what happened, they told me that Neville had forgotten something on the train after all others had already exited and his mate with rather unkempt hair and black rimmed glasses went with him. _

_"By the time they found what they were supposedly missing, the train was moving. Neville’s mate, who was the one whom told me what happened, said the strangest thing then. He told me they jumped off the moving train and walked back to the station. How such wee lads were able to do such a thing, I dinnae ken. But I do know that his wee mate was wearing Slytherin colours.”_

_Who was the lad who had led the boy who lived on such a wayward path? Has fame finally gone to Neville Longbottom’s head? Perhaps he is being seduced to the dark side by Slytherins. It is well known that You-Know-Who was once a Slytherin at Hogwarts. _

_Although many respectable wizards have come from the same house; the dark spot remains, especially when surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. The Wizarding world will be keeping close tabs on the future of Neville Longbottom_.

Neville dropped the clipping in dismay, his eyes watering. He couldn’t fathom why the woman who had helped them had turned around and gone to “The Daily Prophet” on him. They had, of course, been saying things since he was a baby but this hit him hard all the same._ Of all the rubbish things to say! How could they compare Harry and I to Voldemort? At least Harry wasn’t spoken by name._ _Why me? Why do I have to be “The-Boy-Who-Lived”?_ He wondered for the umpteenth time. 

“Hey Neville! What did your Gran get ya?” One of the twins called out as they strode over to where Neville sat.

“Hope nothing embarrassing—oh.”

Neville jumped as the article was grabbed from where it fell. He turned around as Fred and George huddled around it, reading it. After they finished, they turned to each other and then to Neville, giving him a feigned stern look, clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Neville, have you gone and become a _nasty_ dark wizard on us?” Fred had lowered his gaze, trying to sound rather cross.

George put his hand to his chest, speaking several octaves higher than normal. “Why Fred! How can you ask such a thing of the wee lad! He was obviously coerced by that evil Slytherin, Harry Potter!”

“Now, now. Let the lad talk. Have you been coerced by said evil villain Harry Potter?” Fred’s scrutinizing look looked more like he was sucking on a lemon.

“Oh, Merlin help us all! Oh, Merlin he’s evil!” George exclaimed dramatically.

Neville had turned rather red by then unsure how to exactly handle their skit. It gained the attention of the rest of the Gryffindors. Hermione snatched the article and started to read it with a silent Ginny beside her. 

“Oh no! I know you aren’t evil!” Ginny exclaimed dramatically and burst into tears. 

“You two are idiots.” Hermione scolded Fred and George.

“Bloody hell…” Ron muttered darkly.

“We are only trying to cheer him up. It's the biggest pile of dragon’s dung we’ve ever seen and our brother Charlie is the Dragon keeper!” Fred stated.

Neville smiled at that. “Thank you. Really was funny.” He meant it; he just couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

“We’ll be here all day!” Fred and George chimed in.

Ginny had stopped crying, much to Neville’s relief. He had no idea how to deal with that.

Hermione frowned at the book that came with it. 

Neville’s face reddened, “Gran sent it to me.” He murmured.

“Hmm.” Was all she said in reply.

“I’m sure it’s just traditions...and being more refined...not...the uh Pure-blood elitism that the Malfoy’s practice.” Neville reassured her. “The traditions themselves aren’t so bad.” He had no idea why he was defending his Gran’s present.

“Can I borrow it?” She was still frowning but there was also a spark of curiosity in her gaze.

“Sure, Hermione. Go ahead.” He responded.

“Happy Christmas.” She said. 

“Happy Christmas.” He replied. 

“Happy Christmas, one and all!” Fred sang out dramatically.

At breakfast, Neville kept waiting for a Howler from his Gran but it never came. Instead, she sent him a note on a piece of parchment brought in by his owl, Trevor.

_Neville,_

_I hope you enjoy your gifts and find them quite useful. Please be mindful of your reputation as it is reflective of our very namesake. Don’t let that dreadful Potter boy influence you. Happy Christmas! I love you. _

_Love,_

_Nan_

Neville inwardly sighed. He was relieved he didn’t receive a Howler but he was struck by her words regardless. His gaze wandered to Harry, wondering what Sirius and Remus had said about it, if anything. _Maybe he doesn’t know. _

His attention was grasped by Hermione who had just sat next to him. Ron sat on the other side.

“It’s done. We go tonight.” She whispered to them quietly. 

Neville gulped; a spike of fear prickled down his spine. 

“Have Harry meet us one hour before the Christmas feast.” She said to him with a sense of urgency.

He nodded slightly as he got up from the table. He no longer felt hungry. Once he passed the Slytherin table where Harry sat apart from the few Slytherins that stayed, he paused.

“Meet us one hour before the Christmas feast.” He whispered in a hushed tone.

Harry wordlessly nodded his head in understanding. Neville kept going, ignoring the curious, scowling faces of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

An hour before the feast, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Harry gathered around a rather putrid smelling potion. It caused Neville’s stomach to churn with discomfort. 

“As I said before, the potion is ready. We just need a bit of Crabbe and Goyle’s hair.” She began. “I’ve got it all worked out.” She went on smoothly, ignoring the stupefied looks on Harry, Neville, and Ron’s faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. “I’ve filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they’re bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few strands of their hair and hide them in a broom closet.”

A moment of silence before Harry let out a laugh. “That is brilliant! A bit of cunning Slytherin in you after all!” He exclaimed gleefully, seeming more than happy to drug the two lumps.

Hermione had turned a bit red at Harry’s outcry. 

Neville bit his lip; unlike Harry, he was full of trepidation, “So much can go wrong, Hermione.”

“Yeah. I don’t think—” Ron began.

Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

“The potion is useless without something of Crabbe and Goyle’s.” She said sternly. “This is the chance we have to take...unless you don’t want to investigate Malfoy.” She narrowed her gaze at them dangerously.

“Don’t be cowards. I’ll do it alone if I have to.” Harry piped up.

“OK. Alright!” Neville raised his hands in surrender. “But who is going? Only two of them, after all.”

His question lingered in the air. 

“Well since I know the password to the Slytherin commons and I know them best; I should go.” Harry said finally. 

“And me. I have to go.” Neville jumped in before either Hermione or Ron could speak up. 

“What about me? You can’t just leave me out like this.” Ron whined.

“You’re sort of a thick git. Can’t have you messing it up.” Harry snottily replied.

Ron’s face turned red and he looked ready to explode. Neville shot a scathing look at Harry.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded. She turned to Ron, “That’s not true! You are perfectly capable but Harry does have the password and it is imperative that Neville go.” She said. “You can stay here with me and make sure everything is ready.”

Ron grumbled angrily, crossing his arms across his chest but made no further objections.

“Right. Well. Feast first.” Neville said after an awkward silence.

They headed out without another word. No one, not even someone dreading taking the Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy the Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favourite carols, the volume of Hagrid’s voice increased in volume with every goblet of eggnog. Percy, who hadn’t noticed that Fred had bewitched his Prefect badge to read, “Pinhead”, kept asking what they were sniggering at.

They spoke loudly and laughed almost weightlessly with mirth during the feast. Finally, they made their way out of the hall, Hermione leading the way. Neville had caught Harry’s gaze and he followed a bit behind into the hall. 

Hermione pulled out the chocolate cakes and handed one to Harry and Neville.

“Remember. Make sure they find them and eat them. Ron and I will be back with the potion. _Don’t _forget to grab a few of their hairs.”

Ron begrudgingly followed after Hermione, leaving Harry and Neville in the hallway to wait.

They lurked in the deserted entry hall, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle, who remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle.

“You shouldn’t be so rude to Ron, you know. He’s nice and he is rather brilliant at chess.” Neville spoke quietly as they waited.

“He’s a leech. Can’t you see that? He wants some of your fame and would do anything to get just a taste of it.” Harry replied with a sneer.

“Funny, he says the same about you.” Neville said evenly.

Harry’s bushy brows shot up. “That’s rubbish. I don’t want your stupid fame! I want to find the Heir of Slytherin just the same as you do. It is making Slytherins look like monsters and I’m sick of it. Muggle-borns, although rather ignorant of our ways, deserve just as much chance to learn as we do. I think it’d be dangerous to let them wander about untrained in the Muggle world anyway.” Harry pointed out. “But their ignorance means traditions that are proudly held are fading away.” He paused, “Then again, who bloody cares. Most of it is rubbish anyway.”

Neville was about to answer when he spotted Crabbe and Goyle finally lumber from their seats. They quickly perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters and hid behind a suit of armor next to the front door.

Crabbe and Goyle quickly grabbed them as soon as they spotted them. Grinning stupidly, they shoved the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backwards into the floor. 

By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, they yanked out several strands of their hair. They also stole their shoes because their own were far too small for Crabbe and Goyle size feet. Neville and Harry exchanged stunned glances at what they had just done and headed back to the potion.

When they entered, they pulled their robes over their faces; the black smoke choked the air out of the room.

“Hermione? Ron?” Neville croaked out. He could barely see through the black smoke that emitted from the black cauldron. 

“Did you get them?” Hermione replied breathlessly. 

“Too easy.” Harry cockily replied.

“Good.” Hermione stated.

“And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry.” Ron added as he held up a bag. “You won’t fit once you turn into Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Good thinking.” Neville praised.

Ron beamed proudly.

“I’m sure I’ve done everything right,” said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of _Moste Potente Potions_. “It looks like the books said it should...once you’ve drunk it, have one hour before you change back.” 

“Now what?” Ron whispered.

“We separate it into two glasses and add the hairs.” Hermione answered promptly.

Hermione ladled large dollops of the Potions into each of the glasses. Harry and Neville anxiously handed over the hair they collected and she put them into the glasses. The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. Goyle’s turned the khaki colour of a booger, and Crabbe’s turned a dark, murky brown.

“OK. Careful not to spill a drop.” Hermione warned as she dragged Ron off to the other side of the room to give them some privacy.

Harry and Neville kicked off their shoes.

“Ready?” Neville asked as he glanced at Harry, gulping.

“Ready.” Harry said with confidence he envied. “Cheers!” He cheekily added as he held his up.

“Cheers.” Neville returned without mirth. 

Pinching his nose, Neville drank down the potion in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he’d just swallowed live snakes. He doubled over; a burning sensation spread rapidly throughout his entire body as a wave of nausea washed over him. As his skin bubbled over like hot wax, an overwhelming waxy sensation overcame him and he dropped to his knees, writhing.

Before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, and nails broadened. His knuckles bulged like bolts, his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him the hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows. His robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops.

As quick as it started, everything stopped. Neville was lying face down on the stone-cold floor, feeling discombobulated. With some difficulty, he lumbered to his feet. He slipped on the boat-like shoes he had stolen.

He pulled off his own robes, which hung a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and laced up the shoes.

He turned around and came face to face with Goyle. “Woah.” Came Crabbe’s deep grunt from his own lips.

“This is brilliant.” Came Goyle’s low rasp of a voice in front of him. 

Ron and Hermione came over. Ron gaped at them in shock while Hermione looked proud, if not a bit smug. 

“Woah.” Ron remarked.

Harry took off his glasses and placed them in his robes.

“You look hideous.” Harry remarked with a smirk. 

“So do you.” Neville returned.

“Really should see yourselves.” Ron added.

Neville turned to see if there were mirrors and of course there weren’t. 

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled Ron out of the room to the nearest lavatory. He approached the bathroom mirror tentatively and gazed into it. 

He had Crabbe’s flat nose, pudding-bowl haircut, and long gorilla arms. He touched his square jaw in awe of it.

“Move over.” Harry said in Goyle’s voice, causing him to flinch. He wasn’t used to hearing it without the immediate violence that followed.

He stepped aside and took in Harry’s reflection of Goyle’s dull, deep-set eyes, short hair with a few bristles for fringe and equally gorilla sized arms. It was unbelievable.

“You better get going.” Hermione cut through the stunned silence from the entrance of the lavatory. 

"Right.” Neville responded, his brows furrowing, jostled by the sound of Crabbe coming from his own lips.

“It’s unnerving...seeing Crabbe think.” Ron said with a shake of his head as he stood beside Hermione.

Neville smirked a bit despite himself. “Uh right. Let’s go then. Lead the way Harry.” He started for the door.

Harry lumbered forward and grabbed his meaty arm. “Don’t swing your arms like that. Hold them stiffer.” He advised.

Neville steadied them, trying to stiffen them at his side. “How’s this?” He asked.

“Better.” Harry said as he moved forward, easily imitating the brute. 

“Be back soon.” Neville said with uncertainty, trying his best to keep his arms stiff as he followed after Harry.

He led them to the dungeons where the Slytherin common rooms were. Once they stopped, Harry glared at Neville through Goyle’s eyes until he backed up. He said the password quietly and they entered. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them. It was a round room with an elegant, silver velvet couch with dark green pillows on either side. Green, velvet high-backed armchairs curved around the central piece of furniture. Malfoy was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs as they approached. 

“Wait here,” said Malfoy to Neville and Harry, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. “I’ll go and get it. My father had just sent it to me —” 

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Neville and Harry sat down. Harry was at ease but Neville fidgeted in his chair slightly. Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. 

Draco thrust it under Harry’s nose. “This’ll give you a laugh,” he said. 

He watched Harry’s brows raise considerably, scowling before letting out a forced laugh. He shoved it toward Neville. He wondered what had upset him until he glanced at the paper clipping himself. It was the one that Gran had sent him. By the look on Harry’s face he had not seen it before. Neville let out the grunting laugh he had heard Crabbe make, usually at his expense.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Malfoy had said. “Longbottom being a dark wizard is preposterous. Even more hilarious is the notion that Potter is a bad influence on the fatass. I mean, they didn’t point him out by name but who else would they be speaking of?” He shook his head slightly. “If anyone has been poorly influenced it’s Potter by those moronic Gryffindors. Pathetic, they are. Especially Longbottom. You wouldn’t know he was a Pureblood by the way he acts.” He stated. “Potter has certainly lived up to his blood traitor family status, though.” He scrunched up his nose in obvious annoyance. Perhaps something else too, but Neville was unable to tell what it was.

Neville suppressed a belly full of rage at his remarks but when he glanced over, he noticed that Harry’s---or rather Goyle’s---face was contorted with fury.

“What’s up with you, Goyle?” snapped Malfoy.

“Stomachache.” Harry, remembering himself, grunted.

“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me.” said Malfoy, snickering. “You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all of these attacks yet.” He went on thoughtfully. “I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.”

Neville resisted the urge to bring up what Harry had said about the danger of rogue Muggle-borns unable to control their powers.

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: “‘Longbottom, can I have your picture, Longbottom? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Longbottom?’” 

He dropped his hands and stared at Neville and Harry.

“What’s the matter with you two?”

Far too late, they both forced themselves to laugh. Malfoy seemed satisfied by it; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.

“I don’t understand how anyone could think Saint Potter or that clumsy dolt Longbottom could be dark wizards, let alone the Heir of Slytherin. Both of them are friends with that Mudblood Granger and the blood traitor Weasel. It’s pathetic and an insult to Salazar Slytherin and his Heir!”

Neville and Harry exchanged hopeful glances, sure that he was about to tell them who the Heir was.

“I _wish_ I knew who it was,” said Malfoy petulantly. “I could help them.”

Harry’s jaw dropped so that Goyle looked more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn’t notice. 

“You must have some idea who’s behind it all…” 

“You know I haven’t, Crabbe, how many times do I have to tell you?” snapped Malfoy. “And Father won’t tell me _anything_ about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it. He says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing--last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood _died_. It’s only a matter of time before one of them is killed this time. Personally, I hope it’s Granger.”

Neville’s fists were wound so tightly his knuckles were white as he sent him a deadly glare, appearing as though he was about to strike him. Harry kicked Neville hard in the shin.

“That’s for earlier and stealing my bloody biscuit.” Harry said quickly as Malfoy’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“Ow!” Neville hissed back but didn’t say anything else as Harry sent a warning look.

After a moment, Malfoy snickered, bemused by their antics.

“D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?” Harry asked after a few moments.

“Oh, yeah...whoever did it was expelled,” said Malfoy. “They’re probably still in Azkaban.” He explained. “Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?”

Neville scrunched his face up in fake concern. “Oh really?”

“Yeah…” said Malfoy. “Luckily, they didn’t find much. Father’s got some _very _valuable Dark Arts stuff. Luckily we’ve got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor.” He smugly stated.

“Ho!” Harry exclaimed a bit gleefully, as though he was right about something.

Malfoy and Neville both glanced at him. Harry’s face was turning red. Neville could have sworn that his hair was becoming more unruly by the moment. Harry was turning back to himself, and from the look of horror he was giving Neville, he must be too.

They both jumped to their feet.

“Medicine for my stomach.” Harry grumbled, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping that Malfoy hadn’t noticed anything.

Neville could feel his feet slipping around in Crabbe’s huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank. They crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where they’d locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, they sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase toward the room where Ron and Hermione waited. 

“I know we still haven’t found out who’s doing the attacks, but at least I know that Malfoy is up to something!” Harry exclaimed.

“Oh, come off it about Malfoy already. He isn’t the Heir so it isn’t important right now!” Neville snapped, aggravated by the lack of concrete answers. 

A few hints had been dropped but the question of _who_ it was still remained unknown.

Hermione and Ron greeted them as they entered the room. “Well?” Ron insisted. “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it? I knew it. It has to be. Him and his family.” He rattled off.

“Shut it. It isn’t Malfoy.” Harry snapped irritably as he reached in his robes, groaned his glasses, and put them back on. He blinked rapidly at the regained ability to see clearly.

Ron gaped at them. “Then who?”

“We don’t know.” Neville said in a dejected tone.

Harry began to tell the entire sordid tale, sans the information about the Malfoy’s drawing room. Neville sent him a questioning look which earned him an intense glare in return. Neville turned away, knowing that meant for him to keep quiet about it. So, he did. 

They had more pressing matters at hand. _Who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago? Is it the same person or was it passed down? _As helpful as the adventure was; they still walked away with more questions than answers. Neville inwardly sighed, his mind racing with the endless possibilities.


	10. The diary of Tom Riddle.

The first part of the Christmas holiday was dull and quiet just as Draco had hoped. Except, it was so exceptionally uneventful that the hours seemed to tick by endlessly. It was lonely and cold in the dungeons and he couldn’t seem to entertain himself even when he Crabbe and Goyle found a few Hufflepuff first years to pick on.

Draco found himself sneaking up to the second-floor girl’s bathroom to talk to Moaning Myrtle. She was much better company than Crabbe and Goyle when it came to his conversational needs and she didn’t seem to mind his complaints about Saint Potter and the how Longbottom and his half-wit friends stole him away.

A few days before Christmas, he was once again ranting about the injustice of his situation.

“You poor thing…” Her moaning voice cooed. “Popular kids always take things that _aren’t theirs!_” The last two words were spoken with a vicious inclination that Draco was used to by now. 

At first it had made him a bit twitchy, but he knew it meant that something personal had occurred. 

“What did they take from you?” He asked simply.

Sometimes her misery made him feel better about his own.

“My life!” She shrieked horribly and dove into one of the stalls. 

He sat there, bewildered and dejected all at once. _Did another student kill her?_ It was quite strange, really. All he wanted to do was tell Potter. _But, how can I? We aren’t friends. I’m supposed to hate him. _

He held back tears as he sat there, listening to Moaning Myrtle cry in the stall mournfully. _I suppose it could be worse. I could be dead and crying in a toilet stall._

He sniffed, resolving not to allow a tear to fall, and headed downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. He glared over at the Gryffindor table. It was full of Weasels, Longbottom, and the Mudblood. _Disgusting. _He thought to himself. 

He turned his head toward Potter who sat alone on the far end of their own table with the manners of an animal. _Was he raised by Werewolves? _He shook his head turning his head, his nose wrinkled with disgust.

It was the day before Christmas and he hadn’t received any word from Father about anything. He spent every miserable hour he could with Moaning Myrtle, even if just to listen to her as she sobbed in a melancholy state. 

Sometimes he even allowed her to sit by him as she sobbed about the cruelty of life. He understood more than he let on. He never did tell her about how his father hit him but he did open up to her about the way he always let others down. 

He told her things he was unable to say to other people. Maybe because she was a ghost and there was nothing in it for her except for shared company. He had suspected she was a Mudblood when she had used the phrase “misery loves company”. There was something so distinctly Muggle about it. It didn’t seem to matter. When she was alive, she was just as human as he was now. In fact, in many ways, she was just the same.

It was against everything he was ever taught in his life. His father would surely hex him if he ever found out about his friendship with a _Muggle-Born_. She would end her friendship if she knew the things he’d done and that he’d harmed those that were like her. He still had to keep things from her. _I have to save my own skin just as much as her feelings. _He had thought. 

However, Crabbe and Goyle started asking where he had gone to. Draco, without a suitable answer, regretfully resolved to hang with them and pretend he found enjoyment in making people, who reminded him of Moaning Myrtle, cry.

On Christmas Day, he sat in the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle and opened his gifts. His present load was stacked high. He received _much_ more than both Crabbe and Goyle combined. He always had the latest and best of everything. He thrived on the envious glances from the other two lads who seemed to receive their weight’s worth of sweets. _Any bigger and they will have to squeeze them through the doorways._ He amused himself by thinking. 

Potter eventually joined them too but he kept his distance, barely glancing his way as he put his presents in a large sack and used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to float them up to their dorm room. Draco pretended not to care one bit.

Within his own pile of gifts, he found that he was sent an article from The Daily Prophet. He read it and started to laugh. It was too rich not to share! When he turned around, Crabbe and Goyle were sadly absent. He sighed, resolving to show them later and went down to breakfast.

That evening, the Halloween feast in the Great Hall was splendid. He sat with Crabbe and Goyle who grunted a few words between large bites. He spotted Potter staring at them with a wrinkled nose. 

“Like you have room to talk, Potter. Have you ever in your life chewed with your gob shut?” Draco called down to him.

“Oh, shut it, Malfoy. If you starve yourself anymore, you’d waste away into nothingness. Honestly, are you waiting for your mum to come chew up your food and feed it to you?” Potter shouted back.

Crabbe nearly choked on his half consumed sweet. Goyle’s food, which was unfortunately chewed, spilled down his chin onto his plate with a large _glop._

Draco could feel his face flush beat red, his eyes narrowing, and his nostrils flaring at the git.

“You shut it!” He spat at him. “Just because I learned manners and how to not overindulge doesn’t mean I can’t feed myself, you absolute troll!”

He knew that Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to understand his insult but they grunted with laughter anyway. Potter scowled, his own face turning beat red. He opened his mouth to retort something when Longbottom walked by and whispered something to him. Potter seemed to rudely forget all about him and followed after him like an obedient puppy. 

He gaped at them in shock and horror and then turned away to Crabbe and Goyle, whose faces were contorted into confounded expressions. Their mouths were hanging open for a few moments before closing them and returned to stuffing their fat faces.

After a few moments, Draco got up from the table and returned to the Slytherin common rooms, still seething over Potter’s words. _I hate him! I bloody hate him! _He thought venomously. 

When Crabbe and Goyle returned to the common room they were acting rather odd. They _almost_ held a conversation for once. They asked _questions _and seemed to care more about the Chamber of Secrets than the treats he was sure they still had. 

As always, they were slow to laugh and comprehend the most basic things but they were momentarily engaged. That is, until they ran off in a rude, abrupt way. He wrote it off as a result of their perpetual overindulgence until later when they claimed they woke up shoe-less in a broom closet. They claimed they didn’t recall speaking to him in the common room at all, let alone converse about the Chamber of Secrets. _I think they might have finally overdosed on sugar. Or they somehow accidentally hexed each other. _

He was actually glad they didn’t remember. He had probably said too much as it was. It was probably safer for them to not recall their conversation. He should have never mentioned the secret compartment at their house, or that the Chamber of Secrets had already opened. Least of all he should not have wished Granger dead, which he hadn’t meant in the first place. He hadn’t a clue why he said. For some unknown reason he felt like a boulder had settled in his chest. 

_Bloody Mudblood should go home before it becomes true! _He didn’t want the stupid twit to get hurt. He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for that, especially since he would have to force himself to laugh. His own stomach lurched. He wondered if something was not cooked right at the feast. Whatever had affected Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have affected him as well.

The rest of Christmas break went by without further incident. Potter and his Gryffindor mates cast him dirty glances and he’d shout some sort of insult in return. It usually was about Longbottom’s dead parents, Granger’s status as a Mudblood, and Weasel and Potter’s blood traitor status. Crabbe and Goyle stuck close behind him, stupidly grunting out laughter. 

When term resumed, the corridors crowded again and Draco found himself throwing himself into his studies. He still had to beat Granger’s scores, after all. 

One day, after finishing a large amount of homework delivered by Snape, he decided it had been far too long since he had visited Moaning Myrtle. He headed up to the second floor, stopping short on the stairs, stricken still by Filch’s sudden outburst. He was not about to get sucked into his latest insane accusations. He was worse than he was when he had the ugly cat trailing him. Nonetheless, he listened hard, hoping to overhear the conversation, his heart quickening. _He sounds bloody hysterical! What if it’s another attack? _

He strained his ears to catch the words.

“—_even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore!”_

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and he heard a distant door slam.

He finished climbing the stairs and poked his head around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post. He reminded himself that this was the spot they had found Filch’s cat. He shuddered are the memory. 

He noticed that a great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked like it was still seeping from under Moaning Myrtle’s Lavatory. His eyes widened considerably as he heard her wailing from behind the walls. He hiked up his robes and rushed inside. He stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignoring it entirely and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding in her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

“Myrtle?” He called out tentatively. 

“Who's there?” She demanded through her wailing. “Come to throw something at me?”

“It’s me, Draco.” He said. “Why would I throw something at you?”

Myrtle came out immediately. “Draco!” She exclaimed miserably. “Oh, it was awful! I was minding my own business, and someone thought it funny to throw a book at me!” 

He frowned. “How awful. What sort of person would do such a thing! As though because you’re a ghost you haven’t any feelings!” He was angry for her. The nerve of some of the idiots at the school.

“I know!” She sniffed. “Some people are awful!”

“Do you know who threw it at you?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t know who threw it at me. I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head.” She sighed. “It’s over there, it got washed out.”

He sent her a sympathetic look, not great with verbally expressing sympathy. Luckily, this was something she understood quite well. She managed to smile at him.

“You always understand me.” She said with a bit of a girlish giggle. 

He flushed a bit red trying to scowl over his smile but failing. He quickly turned away and glanced under the sink where Myrtle had been pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was soaking wet. He stared at it tentatively, stepping a few paces closer, studying it. 

_It could be a dark artifact._ He thought to himself. He had seen enough of them to know that simple ordinary looking objects could be deadly. Still. _What would a dark object be doing washed up in a girl’s toilet?_

_Curiosity killed the cat_. He heard the woman say in his head. He shook it off and grabbed the journal. He stared at it blankly. The faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. _Weird._ He opened it and saw the name, “T.M. Riddle” in smudged ink. He flipped through the rest of the pages but they were all blank. It wasn’t a textbook. _So, what is it supposed to be? _

He turned it on its back. “Vauxhall Road, London.” He read out loud. 

_Must be Muggle-born to have something from there._

“That’s a diary.” Myrtle said as she came up closer, her eyes wide with amusement.

“A what?” He asked, perplexed.

“Oh! It’s a Muggle thing. They write down their feelings. Oooh. This one is blank.” Her nose scrunched up in disgust. “And no wonder. If it is who I think it is. There was a nasty boy with the last name Riddle. He _had _no feelings. Head boy. He sucked up to the professors but he was mean. Ruthless. Called me a—” 

Draco gaped at her as she suddenly burst into tears and returned to her toilet. He frowned at the “diary” thing and then slipped it in his robes. A Muggle object hardly seemed like a dark object but he was curious enough to swipe it. Besides, he couldn’t leave it there when it upset Myrtle so much. 

He approached her toilet with trepidation. “Myrtle? Are you OK?” 

“Go away!” She wailed dramatically. 

Draco sighed and eased his way out of the girl’s lavatory. He didn’t open it again until he was in his dormitory. 

_T.M. Riddle. Possible bully. _He sighed. _Like me_. He thought to himself. 

“Wait a minute, fifty years ago. Maybe this person knows something!” 

He flipped through it again as though there would be some sort of hint. It was just as blank as before. _Muggle-born or not; it could be enchanted. _He took out his wand and tapped the diary three times. 

“_Aparecium!”_

Nothing happened.

He thought for a moment and reached for a Revealer, a Christmas gift from his Father. He rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened. His shoulders slumped in disappointment. _Maybe it was just some Muggle-born who received a hand-me-down diary and was insulted by the notion of such a disgraceful gift. _He sneered at it. _Hand-me-down? Maybe he’s related to the Weasel family! _He snickered at the notion.

A few days later, Dumbledore announced at breakfast that they acquired a Mandrake Draught and planned to have the students unpetrified at once. _It’s about time._ He thought. Dumbledore reiterated that the Mandrakes on school grounds continued to mature as a backup. _Which probably means they haven’t anymore now. _He thought irritably.

Since none of the papers covered it and no enraged parents came to the school; he assumed Dumbledore succeeded in keeping it all hushed up. _Tricky bloke._

By the end of the day, all of the Muggle-borns awoke from the petrification, otherwise unharmed. None of them were useful as far as information, of course. They all saw the reflection of something with big yellow eyes. _That’s not daunting at all._

Yet, the professors treated it like it was normal since they were awake and no more attacks occurred. Draco, on the other hand, was far less inclined to think anything was resolved. Any heir of Slytherin would be ambitious. _They’re probably just biding their time._

Draco did _not _hesitate to inform his father. That night he had made his way up to the owlery, not about to use his own owl to deliver such a message.

_Mandrake Restorative Draught arrived and unpetrified students_. 

He knew better than to put details into his owl. He expected praise for keeping in touch and delivering news while being discreet but the next morning's owl was brief.

_Good. Keep me updated_. _Stay out of trouble._

He grumbled at the last bit. _I am not a dumb child! _He thought insolently. He crumpled it up and dropped it in his half-full juice in frustration. He abruptly left the Great Hall in a huff.

The Hufflepuffs continued to believe it was Longbottom. They seemed to believe that somehow, he had “given himself away” at the Dueling Club. Peeves hilariously broke into song any time he was near Longbottom, who seemed to become increasingly twitchier and clumsier over time. The demented Lockhart took credit for the attacks stopping himself. _Git._ He had thought in irritation as adoring girls listened to Lockhart’s foolhardy story intently.

He had even overheard him telling McGonagall that the school needed a “morale booster” to “wash away the memories of last term,''. Lockhart tapped his nose and walked away before McGonagall could reply. She let out an exasperated sigh and walked off. _Stupid git. _He thought to himself.

As it turned out, Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster was some sort of psychotic _pink_ love display on February 14th. The walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers, and heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Lockhart himself was wearing horrible pink robes that matched the decorations.

Pansy was giggling in a girly way with Daphne, and Millicent looked like she was going to be sick at any given moment. Theo and Blaise were beside themselves while Crabbe and Goyle were confused. He sneaked a peak at Harry, who seemed as horrified as he was by the whole thing.

The other professors seemed agitated as well. He could see a muscle twitching in Professor McGonagall’s cheek and Snape looked as though someone had fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” The clueless lout exclaimed loudly from the Professor’s table. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn’t end here!”

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“My friendly, card-carrying Cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!”

Draco drowned the simpering idiot out. Lockhart was giving him a headache. He had no idea what he had been saying but he suspected it was nothing good.

He was right. All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of their professors. Late that afternoon, he heard some sort of commotion. He snarled when he realized it surrounded Longbottom, Finnigan, Weasel, and Granger. _Because of course it did._

“What’s going on here?” He demanded with an irritated sneer.

“Yes, what is all this commotion?” Chimed in Prefect Weasel. 

It looked like Longbottom was trying to hurry away, despite his belongings being scattered across the floor, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing down to the floor.

“Right,” he said, sitting on Longbottom’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine.”

_His eyes shine bright hazel,_

_With a gaze of determined might._

_I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord_

Everyone, including Draco, stared in stunned silence for a moment and then started to laugh. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, slapping the floor. 

“Oh god. That is brilliant! Who sent that work of poetry? I must know!” He exclaimed between a belly full of laughter. 

“Oh, Longbottom, I’m in love!” He recognized Theo’s taunting voice in the growing crowd.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class now.” Prefect Weasel was trying to shoo them off. “And _you_ Malfoy...get up off the floor!”

Draco was still laughing as he got to his feet. He had no idea when it occurred but he had dropped the diary onto the floor that was for some reason drenched in ink. Longbottom, who looked as pink as the ridiculous displays of decor, picked it up and stared at it with uncertainty.

“What’s this?” He asked Draco curiously.

“Give that back.” He snarled in return.

Longbottom glared down at him, “Why don’t you make me!” He challenged.

“What’s the craic, Neville?” Seamus asked as he approached. “Why are you holding a diary?” He added, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Diary?” Longbottom asked loudly.

“Just give it to me, wide load.” He growled as he pulled out his wand.

“It’s where silly girls voice their thoughts,” Seamus cut in. He paused, “Oooh wait, is that Malfoy’s journal? Fair play! Oh boyo, I bet it’s a gas! Malfoy writes in a diary like a silly girl! I bet it’s a right holy show of proof that Malfoy is not the full shilling.” He dared to say.

“As school prefect---” Percy began to say but Draco had lost his temper, snarling angrily at the lot of them. 

“_Expelliarmus!” _He yelled out loudly as he aimed his wand forward. 

He wanted to do more but knew better. It had been enough. The diary flew from the fat lard’s hand into the air. He caught it with his left hand and put away the wand just as quickly, leaving them gaping in shock. The practice with Snape that he had done last year had paid off. He was loads further along with it than other Second Years. He turned on his heel and headed away, drowning out whatever dribble Prefect Weasel was calling out after him.

He took one look at Ginny’s stricken face as he passed her and sneered. He spitefully yelled after her, “I don’t think Longbottom liked your valentine much!” He laughed as he sauntered away.

It wasn’t until later in the day when he realized that despite falling in a pile of ink, the diary remained as clean as ever. _Weird. _He had thought to himself. 

He waited until he was in his dormitory that night before fully examining the diary. He flicked through the pages but not a drop of ink had soaked through anywhere. It was clean. He knew now that it was not just an ordinary Muggle diary in the slightest. Perhaps that was why he had carried around. It was power that he was drawn to. He picked up a quill and turned to the first page, wondering what Muggles wrote about._ What could trouble them beyond their mundane, archaic existence that stands so far beneath those of witches and wizards_? 

He supposed they filled their inferior mind with trivial things, idiotic pursuits, and needless worrying. Their lives were simple, yet they were the ones with the diaries. Perhaps, it was only for girls to record their ridiculous crushes. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. _Muggle breeding. Disgusting._

Nonetheless, he found his quill moving against the paper in neat curly letters. “My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without a trace. Then, at last, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words that Draco had not written.

“_Hello, Draco Lucius Malfoy. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”_

Draco’s eyes widened as these words too, faded away. _Huh. It writes back. _Despite knowing the danger that such a thing could hold; his inquisitive nature won out almost instantly.

“Someone tried to flush it down the toilet.” He scribbled back in his perfectly curled handwriting. 

He waited to see if he would reply again.

“_Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read_.”

“What do you mean?” He wrote back.

“_I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.”

Draco studied the words carefully before replying. “That’s where I am now. I am at Hogwarts and that dunderhead Dumbledore is covering up loads of things to save his own arse. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? My father says it was covered up fifty years ago just as it is now.”

“_Of course, I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned._”

Draco gaped at it in shock, nearly tipping over his ink bottle as his hand swiftly glided across the pages to reply. “It’s happening again. There have been attacks and they don’t seem to know who it was nor do they seem to care to tell us anything. Who was it last time?”

“_I can show you, if you like.” came Riddle’s reply. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him_.”

At this point, Draco knew that he should tell the diary ‘no thanks’ and hand it over to his father immediately. However, this diary could have the answers. _Although, if said person was expelled, but not arrested, then it wasn’t anyone at the school, was it?_ He wasn’t sure. He was tired of this so-called ‘Heir of Slytherin’ continuing to make his house look like a bunch of barking loony extremists. True, Salazar was right to not want Mudbloods at Hogwarts, but killing them was utterly insane.

“Let me show you.” Riddle wrote.

“OK.” He was curious to see how the diary was going to show him. Perhaps it was like a memory taken from a Pensieve.

His thoughts were cut off quickly as the pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. His jaw dropped at the display in front of him, his eye catching onto the square of June the thirteenth. There was a window instead of a blank page. Before he realized what he was doing, he tilted forward, the window widening, as his body seemed to leave the chair that he was sitting on. He was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of colour and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as blurred shapes around him came into focus. 

He had no idea where he was at first. There were sleeping portraits behind a balding wizard with only a few wisps of white hair on his head. He was reading a letter by candlelight.

He stared at the wizard a few moments and then cleared his throat, to try and get his attention. When he ignored him, Draco scowled at him.

“Excuse me.” He said to him.

Nothing.

“OI!” He yelled after a few more moments of waiting impatiently for him to pay heed to him.

Still, nothing occurred. 

The wizard merely folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Draco without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window. 

The sky outside the window was ruby-red. The wizard returned to his desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door. 

There was a knock on the office door.

“Enter.” Said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Draco and had jet black hair like Potter’s. 

“Ah, Riddle.” Said the old wizard.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” Riddle asked, shifting nervously.

Draco recognized the name as being the Headmaster that Riddle had mentioned earlier. _That means I must be in the Headmaster’s office, the same one that belongs to Dumbledore today._

“Sit down.” Said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.”

“Oh.” Riddle said as he sat down. He gripped his hands together rather tightly.

“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the summer holidays?”

“No,” said Riddle at once. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than return to that—-that—”

“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” Said Dippet curiously.

“Yes, sir.” Said Riddle, reddening slightly.”

“You are a Muggle-born?”

“Half-blood, sir.” Said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.”

“And are both of your parents—?”

“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me—Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.”

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

“The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “special arrangements might have been arranged for you, but in the current circumstances…”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?”

Draco leaned in closer to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy. The death of that poor little girl…you will be much safer at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer to locating the—-er source of all this unpleasantness.”

Riddle’s eyes had widened.

“Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—-”

“What do you mean?” Said Dipper with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir.” Said Riddle quickly.

There was something in his voice that told Draco he was lying. He knew a cunning liar when he heard one. Dippet had suspected nothing because he quickly sank back into his chair, looking faintly disappointed.

“You may go, Tom…”

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Draco was quick to follow him.

They made their way down the spiraling staircase, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle’s forehead furrowed as he bit his lip, deep in thought.

Then, in a decisive manner, strode off quickly, with Draco trailing quietly behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the entrance hall. A tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called Riddle from the marble staircase.

“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. The voice was unmistakably Professor Dumbledore, except fifty years younger.

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle.

_He was just as nosy and meddlesome as he is now. _He thought irritably

“Well, hurry off to bed.” Dumbledore said with a penetrating stare. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…”

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle goodnight, and strode off. Riddle watched the man walk out of sight and then headed toward the dungeons.

Draco followed; his brows perked as he realized he was heading for the Slytherin dormitories. _He was a Slytherin?_ He would be surprised considering there were not too many half-blood wizards were sorted into Slytherin. Potter was technically a half-blood because of his Mudblood mother but his mum and dad were both Purebloods.

Much to his surprise, Riddle geared off the path again and led him to the dungeon where he took Potions with Snape. The torches hadn’t been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door shut, Draco could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

For at least an hour they waited for Salazar knew what. Impatience grated at Draco as he wondered what he was waiting for. _What is he doing down here anyway? _Just when he was about to give up and leave, he heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Draco tiptoeing behind hm, forgetting he couldn’t be heard.

Approximately five minutes passed as they followed the footsteps before Riddle stopped suddenly. His head inclined in the direction of new noises. A door creaked open and then he heard someone speak in a hoarse whisper.

“C’mon...gotta get yeh outta here...C’mon now...in the box…”

Draco was certain _that_ voice sounded familiar.

Riddle jumped around the corner and Draco stepped out behind him. He saw the outline of a huge lad who was crouching in front of an open door with a rather large box next to it.

“Evening, Rubeus.” Riddle spoke sharply. 

The lad slammed the door shut and stood up.

“What yer doin’ down here, Tom?”

Riddle stepped closer. 

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing down the school if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh—-”

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—-”

“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Draco could hear s funny rustling and clicking.

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…”

“It wasn’t him!” Roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’! He never!”

“Stand aside.” Said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the huge lad flew open with such force it knocked him into the opposite wall. Out of it crawled a vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pinchers.

Draco froze in place at the sight. For a few absurd moments he thought it had petrified him. Then he realized he hadn’t seen the big yellow eyes he had imagined when he attacked. He was sure it would happen any moment now.

Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled over him as it scurried away, tearing up the corridor, and hurrying out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, wand raised, but the huge lad leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, “NOOOO!”

The scene whirled; the darkness became complete. Draco fell hard, crashing down, spread-eagled onto the floor of the Slytherin dormitory, Tom Riddle’s diary laying in his stomach. 

It took him a few moments to truly comprehend what he just saw. _It was the Oaf. The Oaf opened the Chamber of Secrets._ He thought in utter disbelief. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes.

_But why? How? Hadn’t he learned fifty years ago?_

He frowned, his forehead wrinkling in thought. _Hold on. There is no way he is the Heir of Slytherin. There is no bloody way that dumb, colossal oaf could be related to Salazar. What an insult to Salazar, himself! _

He picked up the diary and stood to his feet. He returned to his desk. 

“Tom. It isn’t possible that horrible oaf was the heir of Slytherin. Perhaps you were mistaken?” He wrote out carefully. He didn’t want to sound accusatory. After all, the diary held its own power. 

It took several moments before Tom answered.

“_No. That is true. He was no Heir of Slytherin. That is an absurd notion indeed. However, I think the true Heir used him to open it somehow because once he was caught the attacks ceased.”_

Draco absorbed this information carefully, nodding his head slightly. Something else was bothering him, though. 

“Who is, was, the Heir of Slytherin, then? Did anyone ever find out?”

It took a few more minutes before he answered.

“_No. No one ever found out.” _He answered. “_But if he’s using Rubeus again then it will probably stop after he is caught just like last time.”_

Draco frowned. It was still rather concerning that they never did find out who the Heir of Slytherin was, if they had realized that he wasn’t. _All they care about is their image._ Draco thought bitterly. 

He would feel better knowing that the Heir of Slytherin himself was caught. _Plenty of other idiots about to use to open it._

Still, his father knew things he wasn’t telling him. If he told him what he found out that maybe he could take away that oaf that was used like a puppet. _He’s an easy target considering the fact that he harbored dangerous creatures on his own accord. _A cunning plan on the Heir of Slytherin’s part. _Terrible and contrived as it was._

Either way, he had much to tell father.

He knew he couldn’t relay all of the information by owl. He had to tell him in person.

He sneaked out to the Owlery and sent his father a message.

_I know the culprit. We need to meet post haste._

He sneaked back to his dormitory and slipped the diary under his pillow and went to sleep.

When he received an owl the following morning at breakfast, his father’s reply, as usual, was brief.

_Meet me in Professor Snape’s office at 7:30 P.M. tonight sharp. Dispose of this after reading._

Draco couldn’t help but feel nervous. His father was quite an imposing figure, after all. _What if he doesn’t believe me?_ He shook off the thought. _I’ll bring the diary. If he doesn’t believe me; he’d believe Tom, for sure_. 

The day crept by slowly without incident. He couldn’t help but get the feeling he was being watched. He figured that it was paranoia. After all, he had seen the monster of the Chamber of Secrets just the night before, after all.

He knocked on Professor Snape’s office door at 7:30 P.M. sharp. Snape answered it, his lips pursed into a thin line. 

“Mr. Malfoy. Another meeting with your father, I see?” He drawled out. 

“Yes, sir.” Draco answered quickly.

Snape wordlessly let him inside. His father stood stiffly before him, his eyes as icy as ever, his face bore a stony expression. Snape quietly left the room, leaving Draco alone with his Father.

“Well?” He asked as soon as the door closed behind Snape.

Draco went into the whole tale in a quick yet measured voice. He explained the diary, Tom Riddle, and the oaf’s involvement with the Chamber of Secrets. The only thing he left out was where _he _had found the diary. He didn’t need to know he hung out in the girl’s lavatory for Salazar’s sake.

His father’s face was rather guarded as Draco explained the sordid tale in its entirety. Once he finished, the silence between them was palpable.

“Interesting.” He said after a few moments. 

Draco waited for more, his gaze fixated on his father’s face, that had been momentarily contemplative, as though he was working through something. 

“I will take care of Hagrid but I would like the diary. It sounds like a rather...dangerous object.” His father drawled out.

Draco frowned at the lack of praise or any sort of acknowledgement of his achievement of working it out. Knowing better than to go against his father’s orders he went through his school bag to seek it. He thought showing up at Professor Snape’s office on a weekday without one would raise suspicion. _Yet another brilliant plan on my part._ He thought as he ruffled through his bag.

A few moments later he realized that he did not have it. He searched again, hoping that he somehow missed it, tears starting to form in his eyes. Finally, he stood shakily to his feet, wavering in place. His stomach churned angrily.

“Well?” He father demanded impatiently.

“I—I—it’s not there.” His voice quivered as he spoke.

“What?” His father hissed angrily.

“I—don’t have it.”

“Did you leave it in your dormitory?” Father demanded.

“I—I’ve had it with me all day. Maybe it fell out…” Draco trailed off, his face paling at the notion.

“Give me your backpack.”

Draco handed it over, watching in horror as his father went through his backpack savagely, his belongings discarded around the room. His father didn’t find it either. 

Without bothering to put his things back in his bag, he threw it back at Draco’s feet. 

“You incompetent little _child_. This is precisely why you’re not told anything of import.” He spat at Draco.

He held his head down, ashamed.

“I see why a Mudblood can so easily beat out your scores. You are as dim-witted as Crabbe and Goyle. Perhaps more so.” He continued.

Tears welled up in Draco’s eyes but he would not allow them to fall as he continued to stare intently at the floor.

He let out a surprised yelp as pain radiated from his scalp. He found himself face to face with his father. 

“What is that, tears in your eyes?”

He threw Draco down in disgust. 

“You must learn to be a man, not a sissy_ child_.”

He kicked Draco hard in the ribs. Before he could curl up in a protective ball his father grabbed his hair once again. 

“You look at me, boy.” He growled at him as he forced their eyes to lock for a moment. 

Father glared at him with such disgust that it took all force of will for him to keep his expression stoic. After a few he threw Draco down onto the ground again. His ribs ached where his father kicked them. He let out a yell as he felt a stinging sensation on his belly, back, and buttocks. When he glanced up, he realized his father had his wand out and was muttering some sort of incantation and pointing it at various points of his body. 

“_Silencio_!” His father boomed loudly.

Draco’s screams were silenced even though his mouth widened as though he was yawning. The widening of his icy grey eyes and the stricken look on his face gave way to the agony. It was stronger than any hex he was the receiving end of by his classmates.

He felt several more stings to his chest, thighs, and upper arms. His whole body was lit on fire and he could feel himself swell up like a balloon. He finally pulled his gaze off of his father’s disappointed glare and curled up on the floor in forced silence, his expression turned stony and cold. The pain was fierce but he started to ride through it. _I have to be a man about it._ He told himself as his body spasmed. This went on for what felt like hours before it ceased and he was pulled hastily to his feet and he could feel his body return to its normal size. 

Draco suspected it had something to do with Snape’s footsteps because only moments after the pain stopped, the Professor entered the room. Draco wavered in place, peaked, and terrified. Snape eyed the two of them suspiciously but did not ask.

Silence erupted between the three of them for a moment.

“Well, pick up your things. You are dismissed. Next time, try not to throw a tantrum because I won’t buy you something.” Father said smoothly.

Draco nodded mutely in submission. He suspected he could speak but he chose not to. He refused to look at either one of them as he packed his book-bag and hurried out the door into the corridor. His father had been horrifying. The lengths he went through to teach him a lesson told Draco that the diary was quite a bit more important than he had realized. 

This led him to beg the question of _where_ it had gone. _Did someone take it?_ His bag was secured when he entered Professor Snape’s office so someone had to have taken it when he was not looking. 

_The question is, who? And why? _Another knot formed in the bottom of his belly as he headed back to his dormitory. 

_I want to sleep it all away._ He clenched his jaw together so that tears wouldn’t dare form again. No. He wasn’t allowed to cry anymore. _I can’t act like an insolent child_. He scolded himself.

He pushed it all down instead, and locked it deep within himself, vowing to never allow it out again.


	11. The lost ones.

After the Christmas holiday, much to Neville’s relief, the students were revived by the Mandrake Restorative Draught they ordered months ago. The more time that passed without incident, the more the professors acted as though everything was normal. Never mind the fact that the Heir of Slytherin had not been caught or that they didn’t have one iota of a clue as to who it was. Then again, perhaps they did know and were not sharing the information with the students. It was unnerving, nonetheless.

“It's bullshit. That’s what it is.” Harry snarled when Neville expressed his concerns to him, Hermione and Seamus.

They eyed Harry, eyes widening at his language. He rolled his eyes at them.

“Don’t act like you're bloody saints.” He growled.

On Valentine’s Day, Lockhart thought it was a grand plan to have dwarfs deliver Valentine’s, which inevitably disrupted classes. Even Hermione, who appeared fond of the git, was agitated by the constant interruptions. Neville was just glad that none of them were for him. He didn’t want to be publicly admired by anyone.

He thought that he was safe until he was cornered by a dwarf in the corridors between classes. 

“Let me go!” He cried out as he tried to escape.

The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he’d gone two paces.

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to Neville Longbottom in person.” he said, twanging his arm in a threatening way.

“_Not here_!” Neville hissed, his face turning beat red.

“Stay still!” The dwarf grunted, grabbing hold of Neville’s bag and pulled him back.

“Let me go!” Neville exclaimed as he tugged back.

With a ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Neville scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, inevitably causing a holdup in the corridor.

It was only exacerbated by the crowd surrounding them and Malfoy pushing his way up front to see what the commotion was about. 

It was while he was laughing at the horrific poem read to him by the horrible dwarf that he noticed the diary. 

He had only been curious about it but Malfoy, as always, took it as a personal attack. They ended up with their wands out and the diary flying from his hands into Malfoy’s. Neville’s eyes widened in surprise. Even he had to admit that it was impressive wand work. He narrowed his eyes at him, wondering when he had learned that.

Everyone else stared after him when he departed. Ginny burst into tears and ran off as soon as Malfoy announced that he had not liked the valentine. Of course, he hadn’t. It was humiliating. Despite that, Neville felt terrible about it. He knew she hadn’t meant to. She was just a kid. She was Ron’s little sister. 

“Wait, Ginny!” He called out but she was long gone.

Percy, who was red and seething, let out a huff. “I’m going to make sure he pays with a detention.” His voice barely contained his rage. “Still. She ought not do disruptive things like those silly Valentines.” He added after a moment.

Upon realizing the crowd was still surrounding him Percy narrowed his eyes at them dangerously.

“Off to class, you lot!” He turned to Neville, “You too!” He said as though he was suddenly blaming him for what had happened.

Neville shot him a dark look as he finished picking up his ink covered belongings and headed off to Charms.

Later that day, when they met in their usual meeting spot; Harry waved the diary Malfoy had earlier that day. Neville’s brows shot up notably. Hermione put her hands over her mouth in shock while Seamus and Ron exchanged looks of intrigue and excitement.

“Why did you steal that, Harry?” Neville asked finally.

“Because it is suspicious. First of all, why would Draco Malfoy have a diary? Second of all, he obviously stole it from someone named T. Riddle.” He stated. “I thought perhaps he was a current student here and Malfoy snatched it from them.” He paused. “But the date goes back fifty years.”

“Fifty years? Like when the Chamber of Secrets first opened?” Hermione cut in.

“Exactly. But it’s blank.” Harry threw the book on the ground.

“It could be enchanted. Dad had come by loads of books that were dangerous.” Ron said. “Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated were brutal. There was one that burned your eyes out. Anyone who read the book, _Sonnets of a Sorcerer, _spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. Some old witch in Bath had a book that you could _never stop reading…”_

“We get the point!” Harry snapped.

“It certainly could have hidden powers.” Hermione agreed.

“Aye, but what do we do with it now?” Seamus spoke up.

A brief silence erupted in the room.

“I think it’d be best to keep it safely away from Malfoy and give it straight to Dumbledore.” Neville said finally.

“Or we can see what it’s made of and try to see if it is dark magic or just an unused Muggle journal from fifty years ago.” Seamus said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yeah. We should see what is in it. It could be important.” Harry agreed.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry and Seamus dangerously as she picked up the book. “_I’m_ going to keep it safe until _we _give it to Dumbledore.”

Ron nodded, “She’s right this time, mate. It could be dangerous, dark magic.”

Seamus and Harry wore matching scowls but didn’t further object.

Neville eyed Harry. “How did you get it from Malfoy anyway?” He asked curiously.

Harry smirked at him, “I followed him after classes ended to our dormitory while wearing my invisibility cloak. I quickly swiped it from him when his back was turned.”

“You really are a bit of a stalker, mate.” Ron said with a shake of the head.

“More like a grand ol’ fellow!” Seamus piped up.

Hermione was both disapproving and impressed at once.

Neville simply snorted. “You’re mental, Potter.” He grinned at him.

“And that is why you keep me about.” He returned.

Neville held onto the other lad’s emerald gaze, unsure as to why he was sweating and his heart was racing quick like a drum. He was both disappointed and relieved when Harry finally glanced away. The other three were silent and turned when Neville looked in their direction. He wondered if they all knew something he didn’t.

Around seven-thirty, Harry and Neville were heading toward the library to meet with Hermione and Seamus when they spotted Malfoy, backpack in tow, heading toward the dungeons, alone. They exchanged curious glances, both seeming to wonder whether he noticed that his diary was missing yet. He didn't appear any more irritated than normal but they wanted to make sure. Neville was certain they were following him to the Slytherin common room. He was surprised when he instead turned and headed for Snape’s office. They stopped when Malfoy did and watched him knock on the door. Snape answered and invited him in. They made their way back toward the library, maintaining invisibility until they were out of the dungeons. 

“What do you think he’s visiting Snape about?” Neville asked finally as they reached the library.

“I don’t know. It’s not like he needs help with Potions.” 

“He didn’t seem to notice his missing diary, which is good.” Neville remarked.

“He will soon enough.” Harry smirked.

Once they located the table where Hermione, Seamus, and Ron sat, they joined them, explaining their adventure to them in low tones.

“The level of stalking is getting to be a bit creepy.” Ron pointed out.

“Yes, it is a bit obsessive.” Hermione agreed.

“Malfoy is clearly up to something!” Harry insisted.

“He’s right…” Although Neville did have to admit that Harry was fixated a bit fixated on it. 

He frowned, unsure why his stomach was churning.

“Aye well, we got bigger problems. It’s near Easter break and we’ve got to decide what to take next semester.” 

Neville was relieved when that took priority over their current conversation.

It was nearly curfew when Neville, Hermione, Ron, and Seamus, made their way back to the Gryffindor tower that night. Only Seamus and Neville lingered in the common room. 

“Aye, mate. What do you think is in the diary? Are you sure Hermione should give it to Dumbledore tomorrow?” Seamus questioned.

Neville frowned. “No idea. It seemed perfectly ordinary to me.” He lied. 

The diary had fallen into his spilled ink yet when he saw it again; it was as unmarked as ever. He planned on telling Harry about it as soon as possible. Perhaps they could properly check for magical properties. 

“I still think we should have kept it and tried to see if it’s magical.” Seamus stated.

Neville was about to open his mouth to say something when he heard an outcry. It sounded like Hermione. They exchanged looks and attempted to run up the stairs. As soon as they reached the second step, the stairs became a slide. Neville almost immediately slid down, arms flailing about wildly. Seamus remained balanced a few moments longer, flapping like he was waiting to sprout wings. Eventually he slid down, nearly landing on Neville, who managed to roll over away from him at the last moment.

“Hermione!” Neville yelled out from the floor. 

They heard the door open. She slid down easily down the altered staircase, face ghost white. “It’s gone.” She said quietly.

“What’s gone?” Neville asked as he studied her features. 

“The diary…” 

She explained that the contents of her trunk had been strewn everywhere and her drawer had been pulled out of her bedside cabinet and laid out all over her mattress.

Neville’s eyes widened. “But who?” He gasped out.

“I don’t know. But it’s all they took.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “I’ll be back down in the common room in a few moments. I want to clean up before anyone else notices.” She ran back up the restored staircase.

Neville bit his lip, wondering if she was safe up there. _What if someone or something is up there?_ He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.

“I’m fine, Neville. Go on, then.” Hermione said sternly. 

Seamus and Neville exchanged hopeless glances and stood to their feet and plopped down on the couch in the common room. They sat in silence as they waited for Hermione. Neville’s mind was racing with possibilities.

It wasn’t long before Hermione joined them on the couch; she appeared aghast by the experience.

“What was with the staircase?” Seamus blurted out at the same time Neville asked, “What happened?”

Hermione shot Seamus a look and then slumped on the couch slightly. 

“I--I went upstairs to the dormitory and...like I said, my things everywhere. It didn’t take me long to gather that they were looking for something. I went to check on the diary and sure enough, it was gone.” She let out an exasperated sigh as Seamus continued to stare at her waiting for her to continue. 

“It’s an old-fashioned rule. Boys can’t go up to the girl’s dormitory.” She irritably added swiftly.

“Oh. So, the same would happen in the boys? I mean I could have sworn I saw Ginny helping Fred and George carry presents at Christmas.”

Hermione sighed. “The same restriction wasn’t put on the boys’ dorm. Something about girls being more trustworthy.” She said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

”Eejits.” He muttered darkly.

“How did someone get in? Only Gryffindors know the password to get in.” Neville said, ignoring the other conversation entirely

“Do you think Harry followed us in and stole back the diary?” Seamus asked after a few moments, finally dropping the topic of the girls’ dormitory.

Silence filled the room.

"He wouldn’t…” Neville said quickly.

“Are you sure? He seemed just as keen to get his hands on the diary.” Seamus countered.

“I don’t think--oh I don’t know.” Hermione said in a huff.

“Besides, he can’t get in the girl’s dormitory, remember?” Neville pointed out.

“Maybe he had someone else do it. He can be charming like a snake when he wants to be.” Seamus said.

Neville sighed. “I’ll find out after the Quidditch match. It would be better if I ask…” 

“That’s true…” Hermione said a bit timidly as she watched Neville with a calculating expression. “Are you sure he’s innocent?” 

“Yes. You’ll see that he didn’t do it .” Neville snapped stubbornly as he abruptly stood. “I’m going to bed now.”

_They only don’t trust him because he’s a Slytherin. Harry wouldn’t betray us like that, would he? _Neville slept fitfully through the night.

The next morning, during Double Potions, Neville had passed the table where Harry sat and whispered, “I need to talk to you. Meet me at the mirror after classes.” It was their code phrase for the room they met in to brew the Polyjuice potion.

The day went by unnaturally slow. It was a beautiful day out so Neville wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

He waited ‘at the mirror’, chewing on his lip anxiously. He watched Harry closely as he approached. He was sending Neville a quizzical look.

“Did you find out anything?” Harry asked him as he pulled up a chair. 

Neville grabbed one and sat down in it, and then glanced up at him. 

“Someone stole the diary.” He bluntly stated.

Harry’s eyes widened considerably, shock registering on his features.

“What? How...what?” He sputtered out.

As Neville explained, Harry’s eyes became wider. He knew then, that he couldn’t have taken it. Harry wasn’t _that_ good of an actor.

“Who do you think did it? Has to be a Gryffindor.” Harry said finally.

Neville nodded, “Yeah, I know. We haven’t a clue.” He admitted, unable to properly meet Harry’s gaze.

He hadn’t thought for a moment Harry would do it but he felt ashamed for even investigating the claim.

Harry picked it up immediately. “They thought I went in with my invisibility cloak, didn’t they?” He asked dully, his teeth gritting together irritably.

He sighed and nodded his head. ”Or got someone else to do it since we can’t get into the girls’ dorms.”

Harry stared at him, daggers in his eyes. 

Neville put his arms up in surrender. “I never did! I just volunteered to investigate so that you weren't interrogated!”

Harry studied him for a moment and then nodded. “Tomorrow starts our Easter holiday so not much can be done anyway.” He sighed, seemingly dejected by the others’ suspicions. He paused, “We really can’t go into the girl’s dorms?” He smirked.

Neville shook his head, unable to help but return the smile.

“Thanks for sticking by me.” Harry added after a moment. He placed a hand on Neville’s shoulder. 

Chills went down his spine as his body went still at the touch. “W-welcome.” He murmured.

Harry lifted his hand quickly, his cheeks turning pink for reasons that Neville couldn’t begin to understand.

“Well...I’ve got homework so…” Neville said quickly.

“Yeah...me too…”

They got up from their chairs quickly and exited the room, going their separate ways without looking at each other. _What was that? _Neville mused to himself. 

He was quickly distracted by the loads of homework he wanted to complete before the Easter holiday. By the evening he forgot about it entirely until Hermione and Seamus cornered him.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Aye, did the gobshite confess?”

Neville let out an exasperated sigh at the lot of them. 

“He didn’t do it.” He said. “Trust me.” He added with narrowed eyes when they opened their mouth the interject. 

Neville strode up to the dormitory before they could continue. He had enough of their accusations.

_We still don’t know who stole the diary or why. _Even more disturbing was the fact that whoever stole it had to be a Gryffindor. _A Gryffindor can’t be the Heir of Slytherin, can they? _The notion haunted his dreams.

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that both Hermione and Neville took seriously.

“It could affect our whole future.” She said to them as they sat in the library during break. Neville nodded his head as he poured into the new subjects, marking them with checks.

“I just want to give up Potions.” said Harry.

“We can’t.” Ron said gloomily. “We keep all of our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“That class is rather important! Hermione exclaimed, stricken.

“Not how Lockhart teaches it.” Said Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to let Pixies loose.”

Neville was glancing between his list, the letter from Nan and various members of the Order who all believed their advice was the soundest. He furrowed his brows, conflicted. He drowned out Ron and Hermione’s bickering. Harry had already gotten up and left. He hadn’t entirely forgiven them for accusing him of stealing the diary. Neville wished Seamus’ mam hadn’t insisted on him coming home for the holiday.

Later on, in the Gryffindor common room, Percy eagerly shared his experience.

“Depends on where you want to _go_, Neville,” he said. “It’s never too early to think about the future, so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they’re thinking of working in close contact with them. Look at my father, he had to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Neville.”

_The only subject I’m good at is Herbology._ Neville thought gloomily.

In the end, he owled Seamus to see what he took. He had chosen Divination and Care of Magical Creatures so he and Ron chose the same. He found out later that Harry was taking Divination and strangely enough, Muggle Studies. It wasn’t unheard of but the majority of Slytherin either didn’t want to or did not dare take it. If he was trying to isolate himself from the other members of his house; Neville believed he was doing a grand job at it. 

Hermione decided to take Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes. They all agreed she was mental for taking four electives instead of two. Neville was just glad he had friends in his classes. Even if he was lousy at the subjects taken, at least he wasn’t alone.

After their holiday ended, classes picked up full swing. Neville’s mind still wandered to that weird moment he had with Harry sometimes but he didn’t have time to bring it up because Harry was quite busy with Quidditch. 

The day of the first match since the holiday ended, brilliant sunshine shone through the windows and there was a nice breeze in the air. Neville still couldn’t care less about Quidditch but any excuse to enjoy the sunshine was fine with him.

He left the Great Hall with Hermione, Ron, and Seamus, the latter two chattering away about the upcoming game. He stopped abruptly on the marble staircase when he heard the voice again—

“_Kill this time…let me rip...tear…”_

He shouted loudly, causing the other three to jump away from him in alarm. 

“The voice!” He exclaimed. “I just heard it again—didn’t you?”

Ron and Seamus shook their heads, their eyes widened in fear. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

“Neville—I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!”

She sprinted away, up the stairs.

“What is she on about?” Neville stared after her with a puzzled expression.

“Loads more than I do.” Ron stated.

“Most people do, eejit.” Seamus teased.

“Oh, shut it!” Ron retorted, playfully swatting at and narrowly missing Seamus’s arm.

Neville rolled his eyes at them, agitated. He stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again so he could figure out where it was coming from. People were already emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, and exited the front doors toward the Quidditch pitch. _It’s Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff, I think. _Neville thought distractedly.

They followed the rest of them out into the stands and seated themselves on the bleachers. The two teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts. Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were in a huddle. 

Neville assumed they were having a last-minute discussion of tactics. Neville glanced around with a frown. Hermione was not there yet. _What could be so important in the library that she’d miss a beautiful day like this?_

The players were starting to mount their brooms when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying get an enormous purple megaphone. 

Neville’s heart started to pound quickly against his chest.

“This match has been cancelled.” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, was shouting at Professor McGonagall. She pointedly ignored him and continued to shout through her Megaphone.

“All students are to make their way to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please.”

There were various murmurs from the crowd but they all headed back to their common rooms. Once they arrived, a mix of fear, outrage, and worry broke out among the students. Neville noted that Hermione was still absent.

“We should go find her.” He told Seamus and Ron. 

They opened their mouths to speak but just at that moment Professor McGonagall strode in. 

“Everyone stay here. Except Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Finnigan. You three come with me.”

They exchanged nervous glances as they stepped forward. The rest of the Gryffindors stared at them as they passed. Once they passed them the chattering started up again, anxious energy building among the students.

Once out in the corridors, they spotted Professor Snape and Harry waiting for them. Neville sent Harry a questioning look but he merely shrugged his shoulders, though his eyes were wide and worry lines creased his forehead. He didn’t seem to know any more than they did.

As they neared the infirmary, Professor McGonagall finally spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle. “There has been an attack...a _double _attack. One is in the infirmary...while the other…” she broke off abruptly.

Colour drained from Neville’s face as Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and they all entered.

On the only occupied bed lay Hermione, laying utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

“Hermione…” Neville spoke breathlessly. 

Seamus and Ron gaped at her in shock. Harry moved in closer to Neville, their shoulders touching slightly. Somehow it brought him comfort that words could not express.

“They were found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose you lot can explain this.

It was on the floor next to Hermione…”

She held up a small, circular mirror.

They shook their heads with bewildered expressions.

“Professor...what about...the other victim? They can’t really be…” Harry trailed off and gulped.

She furrowed her brows at him, and then turned to the rest who were now staring up at her expectantly.

“I’m afraid the worst has occurred. She had passed on. We are notifying her parents immediately. This may be the end of Hogwarts.” She spoke in a grave voice. 

Neville felt like his throat was closing up. “Who…” He croaked out, unable to finish the sentence.

“I will escort you back to the Gryffindor tower. Severus, please escort Mr. Potter back to the Slytherin House. We must address the houses accordingly.” Professor McGonagall stated, ignoring Neville’s question entirely. 

Neville and Harry exchanged looks and then Professor Snape led him away. He felt like he was falling down a black hole of despair.

Once Professor McGonagall led them back to the Gryffindor Tower, she addressed the Gryffindors as a whole.

“There has been a double attack. One of which passed away. In lieu of this; students will return to their House common room by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a professor. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a professor. All further Quidditch training and matches are postponed. There will be no more evenings activities.”

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment she had been reading from and said in a somewhat choked up voice.

“Dumbledore will be speaking about the deceased at dinner tonight.” She was wringing her hands as she continued, “I hardly need to add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”

“Who was it that passed away?” Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins’ friend and Quidditch commentator called out before McGonagall left. 

She paused, momentarily conflicted before answering. “I’m afraid it was Penelope Clearwater who has passed.” She said somberly. 

They sat in stunned silence.

“May she rest in peace.” Professor McGonagall added.

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait Home, and the Gryffindors began to talk immediately.

“...dead I can’t believe it…”

“...wanna go home…”

“That’s two Gryffindors down, two Ravenclaws, and one Hufflepuff,” Lee said, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t _any _of the professors notice that all of the Slytherins are safe? Isn’t it _obvious that all_ this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The _heir _of Slytherin, the _monster_ of Slytherin. Why don’t they just chuck all of the Slytherins out?” He roared, to nods and scattered applause.

“It doesn’t mean it’s them. Why would the heir sick the monster on their own house when they are after Muggle-borns? There aren’t any in that house.” Neville countered hotly.

“Oh, right. You are friends with one of them, aren’t you, Longbottom? You speak Parseltongue too. Maybe _you’re _the heir.” Lee pointed at him accordingly.

“Why would he attack Hermione, you thick eejit!” Seamus cut in as he stepped beside Neville.

“And Harry is also friends with her, Seamus, and me!” Ron added.

Neville beamed at the support. He wished Harry could hear it.

Muttering and whispers broke out in the common room but no one else addressed them directly.

Percy Weasley was sitting behind Lee, but for once didn’t make his views heard. 

“I heard he was dating Penelope.” Dean said quietly as he approached them. “He’s in shock. I don’t think he’d think the monster would dare attack a _Prefect_.”

Neville bit his lip, anxiously. _Do I approach? What do I say? _He was at a loss for words but he had to say _something_. 

He walked up to him quietly. “Percy…” His throat felt like sandpaper. “I’m so sorry…” 

Percy didn’t answer. His face paled with a slack expression, as though he himself was petrified. Neville frowned and backed away, his head turned toward Seamus and Ron who shrugged. They didn't have any more of a clue how to deal with this than he did.

The students were eerily quiet as they sat in the Great Hall at dinner time. Neville picked at his food, uninterested. He kept glancing up at the staff table, waiting for Dumbledore to step to the podium and speak. Finally, he stood to his feet and moved forward.

“May I have your attention, please?” Dumbledore started.

It was already subdued in the room; the news of the most recent attack had already made its way through the castle. 

“As you have probably already heard, another attack has occurred. One of the victims was Hermione Granger, a second year Gryffindor. The second victim—” He momentary broke off. He cleared his throat as though he was trying to regroup. “The other victim was Penelope Clearwater.

Unfortunately, the attack on her was fatal. We have already contacted her parents and the proper authorities. Preparations for her funeral will be made and announced accordingly.” He gravely stated. 

Crying could be heard throughout the room. Neville glanced over at Percy, who remained in a state of perpetual shock. He looked disheveled in his crumpled robes and unkempt hair. It was quite unlike him. Nearby, Ginny was sobbing hard into her dinner. She had her hands over her face. 

George leaned over to Neville and whispered, “She was quite fond of her. She was the first to find out about Penelope and Percy. He had sworn her to secrecy at first. Rumours spread anyway. We all thought Penelope was a good match for Percy. She seemed to be able to loosen the stick stuck up his arse.”

Before Neville could properly answer, Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the students.

“That being said, we have new rules to be adhered to until such time that the culprit is caught or the inevitable time where the school is shut down.”

The students whispered among themselves; a full roar of shock, outrage, and fear, filled the room.

Dumbledore once again raised his hand, imposing silence in the Great Hall. Then he continued, listing the rules that McGonagall had read off earlier. Neville thought that was the end of it until he cleared his throat again.

Dumbledore’s gaze met Neville’s as though the message was specifically meant for him. “There’s a chance that I will be removed from the school but fear not; you will find that I will only have _truly_ left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” He gravely stated. “Take heed to the guidance given. That is all.”

Loud chattering broke out among the students. Neville could barely hear it over the pounding in his ears. It didn’t feel real. He glanced over at Ginny who was still quietly sobbing and then to Percy’s catatonic disposition before he turned away.

“We have to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin is.” Ron broke Neville out of his trance. “We’ve got to end this not just for the school but…” His eyes gazed upon his two siblings. “I’ve got to help them. I’ve got to.”

Neville nodded his head slightly. 

“Aye. But we haven’t any clues.” Seamus pointed out.

There was a momentary silence before Neville thought of something. “Hermione was carrying a mirror, and Penelope wasn’t. That has to be a clue. Somehow.” 

“But what?” Ron asked in an irritated tone. 

“I dunno but we are gonna find out.” Neville said with renewed determination. 

He had the distinct feeling of being watched and he turned his head. Harry was watching him intently from the Slytherin table. His cheeks were flushed red but he managed a nod. 

“Let’s meet in the Common room.” Neville added finally, ignoring the quizzical looks of his two mates.

“Aye. Let’s get crackin’!” Seamus said as they stood and headed that way. 

Neville couldn’t see him but he had a sneaking suspicion that a concealed Harry was following them closely behind.


	12. Surreptitious intervention.

Shortly after the incident with the diary Draco couldn’t help but look into Riddle, the lad whose memory he had fallen into. It was too odd to ignore and the name was far too familiar.

After spotting Granger, hoping that this year, unlike the last, he would beat her scores, it hit him. 

Prefect Weasel had been true to his word and told on him to Professor Snape for using magic in the corridors. He was awarded detention with Filch, who had been anxious to get a hold of him since the day he found out he was a nasty Squib. 

Draco spent hours polishing old trophies and awards that seemed to fill the room. Filch tended to “accidentally” spill someone on them so that he had to start over again. He inwardly cursed him, determined to tell father Filch was a Squib so he could get rid of him. 

_Isn’t it bad enough they had that oaf Hagrid who was for some reason still employed there despite opening the Chamber of Secrets Fifty years ago? Coerced by the true heir or not; he was a liability._

There was one award in particular that came to mind. Filch had him clean it multiple times after ‘accidentally’ spilling ink on it. He recalled that the “Medal of Merit” bore the name Tom Riddle. _He seems like a trustworthy source, then._ He had concluded.

Easter holiday was trying. He had to choose his electives. He was for once thankful he was condemned to stay at Hogwarts for yet another holiday. It meant he could choose his elective without his mother and father breathing down his neck.

He decided to take Arithmancy and Care of Magical creatures as his electives. Sometimes he fancied himself being a Curse Breaker or a Potions Master. His father insisted that Malfoys invest and gain powerful allies and did not need to hold a job. Draco secretly wanted to something more than that. He loathed the thought of having a marriage arranged on his behalf and being expected to produce an heir. His mother says he will grow out of this mindset but he wasn’t sure about that one.

It was quickly put out of his mind when Granger and a prefect named Penelope was attacked. A chill ran down Draco’s spine the moment he heard Penelope had died at the hand of the monster controlled by the Heir of Slytherin. Of course, he never let on that he cared.

That Friday, near the end of Potions, he made sure to loudly state, clearly so the Gryffindors could hear, “I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now. One Mudblood is dead already. Pity it wasn’t Granger…” 

A sickness swelled in his belly as he forced his lips into a smug sneer.

“I’m sure they’ll sack Dumbledore any minute!” He added with a snicker as the bell rang.

He thought he heard the Weasel trying to get at him for what he had said. He might have smirked if it wasn’t for the look of disgust looming on Potter’s face, a new wave of shame washing over him. He didn’t really want Granger or anyone to die. 

The next morning, he received an owl from his father to meet him in Professor Snape’s office at 4:00 P.M. sharp. He couldn’t imagine what it would be about. He gulped, terrified that he had done something wrong. Perhaps wishing Granger dead was going too far in his attempted bravado. _Or perhaps this pertains to something new that was found out about the diary. _

He approached Professor Snape’s office with trepidation. He didn’t get a chance to knock before the door swung open and his father stood stern with a hint of smugness. _I wonder what is going on._ With him was Professor Snape, and the Minister of Magic. His eyes widened a bit. A stern look from his father caused him to return to the air of nonchalance.

“Ah, yes, there you are.” His father greeted. “This is my son, Draco. He’s a Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Draco, this is the highly esteemed Minister of Magic. He’s here on business.”

Draco bowed his head politely, “How do you do?” He said as he reached out to shake his hand.

“How do you do?” Fudge returned, taking his hand in his own, and gave it a hearty shake.

“I wanted Draco to see how this works so that he may follow in my footsteps.” Lucius added with a tight-lipped smile.

“Ah, yes! Well. Let’s get to it.” Fudge jubilantly replied.

Draco wondered what it was about but knew better than to ask.

“I think...I will stay behind.” Snape drawled out. He appeared uninterested in what was going on.

“Very well.” Fudge Said. Father didn’t seem to have a comment to make. “Will Dumbledore meet us there?” Fudge added a bit nervously.

_Curious._ Draco thought. _What does the batty Professor have to do with...whatever this is?_

His thoughts were interrupted by Fudge clapping his hands. “Good, good!” Draco had missed the answer so he wasn’t sure if he was going to be there or not. He wasn’t sure if his presence was a good or bad thing in this case.

“Let’s get this terrible affair over with.” Fudge added.

“Draco. Stick by me.” Father said sternly. 

Draco did as he was told, striding down the corridor along with his father and Fudge.

They traveled through the corridors and surprisingly out the door toward the Forbidden Forest. He certainly hoped they weren’t going _out there._ He inwardly shuddered at the memory of the last time he was in the Forbidden Forest. He had never been so glad to stop at the oaf’s dingy little hut. He for some reason called it a home. _Disgraceful. _

Fudge knocked on the door and Hagrid opened it. 

“What is it yeh want?” He greeted gruffly. 

“Good evening, Hagrid.” Fudge said coolly. “Bad business, Hagrid.” He added, his tone becoming clipped and businesslike. “Very bad business indeed.”

Hagrid looked behind him and then moved out of the way, revealing Dumbledore.

Draco glanced at his father questioningly but he pointedly ignored him.

“I had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. One of them has died. Things’ve gone far too long. I fear we have not acted soon enough.” Fudge gravely stated. “Ministry has got to act.”

Draco’s eyes widened considerably. This was about the Muggle-born attacks! They were finally going to fire the Heir of Slytherin’s pawn! _Yet, where were they on the actual Heir of Slytherin? _He frowned but wisely remained quiet. 

“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “It was like I was sayin’, sir. It wasn’t me.”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

He had to hold back a snort. Draco knew the man was off his bloody rocker. _Is he also blind? He was there fifty years ago, for Merlin’s sake! He should know better than all of them!_

“Look, Albus,” Fudge said uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record is against him. Ministry’s got to do something--the school governors have been in touch--”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Draco had never seen before.

“Look at it from my point of view.” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure from the Ministry and the parents of the poor deceased child. If it turns out not to be Hagrid, he will be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. It is my duty--”

“Take me?” said the oaf. “Take me where?” The waste of space was trembling. 

Draco was curious as to what Fudge had meant. He figured Fudge was forcing Dumbledore to fire the oaf.

“Azkaban. As a precaution, for now. Not as a punishment, Hagrid. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology.”Draco gaped at them. _Azkaban? Why? They couldn’t possibly believe Hagrid is the Heir of Slytherin? How could Fudge think that Hagrid was the heir? A pawn, yes, but the actual Heir?_ The more he thought of it the more he realized that they weren’t interested in the truth. They wanted someone to take the fall so that they could save face. It made sense.

As much as he loathed the oaf, and thought he was a bloody moron for allowing himself to become a pawn of the Heir of Slytherin, Azkaban seemed a bit harsh for the pathetic lump. _Surely the Heir is Slytherin will find another pawn._

“Not Azkaban…” The oaf was saying.

“Don’t worry. It might not be for long if we find that you are innocent.” Fudge said in a chipper way that appeared to be a bit ominous to Draco.

“It’s not the only reason we are here.” His father finally spoke up.

“An’ what’re yeh doin in my house?” Hagrid growled at his father. Apparently, he had just now noticed that he was there. “Get outta here!”

“Please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—-er—d’you call this a house?” His father sneered. Draco couldn’t help but smirk himself. It was quite abysmal.

“I was told this was where headmaster would be so I was graciously invited to join Fudge as he conducted his own affairs.”

“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely but a fire was blazing inside his blue eyes.

“_Dreadful_ thing, Dumbledore,” Father lazily stated as he took out a long roll of parchment, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon and one of them was found dead. At this rate, there’ll be no more Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an _awful _loss that would be.”

“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” Fudge said, with an alarmed expression. “Dumbledore suspended is the last thing—you did not tell me that was your business. Simply that it pertained to the governors and the attacks of the school.”

“Quite right. The governors agreed that Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—”

“See here, Malfoy, if _Dumbledore _can’t stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, “who _can?”_

“That remains to be seen. But I’d rather not chance it and put my son in danger.” He said with a nasty sneer as he places a firm grasp on Draco’s shoulder and dug his fingernails in just enough to cause him to shift slightly in discomfort. “But as all twelve of his have voted...” he continued smoothly.

The oaf jumped to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing his awful, shabby ceiling.

“An’ his many did yeh have yet threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” He roared.

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid.” His father said. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”

Draco’s eyes widened a moment and then stared at the floor. _This is madness and a waste of time._ He thought irritably. _How can they just take him to that place like the matter is finished? The real Heir is still out there, after all. He’s just a puppet!_

“...take him away an’ the Muggle-burns won’ stand a chance! More will be killed!” The oaf was shouting. 

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” Dumbledore, the absolute loon spoke sharply. He glanced at father. “If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—”

“But—” stuttered Fudge.

“No!” growled Hagrid.

Draco was smug. Taking Dumbledore away was a positive step forward. Perhaps now they could find the culprit. _And send the Muggle-born students’ home once and for all._ _Clearly, they don’t belong here._

He glanced at Dumbledore, who had not taken his bright eyes off of his father’s cold grey ones. _It is nice to see father glaring at someone else._

“However,” Said Dumbledore, speaking slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “it is like I said in the Great Hall, I will only have left school when none are loyal to me.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the old loon’s words.

“Admirable sentiments,” Father said as he bowed. “We shall miss your—er—highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will prevent any—ah—killings.”

“Why’d yeh being your son for this, Malfoy? What’s yeh angle?” The oaf demanded; his dark eyes ablaze.

“I want him to see how bureaucracy works. A concept, I’m sure is—ah—lost on you.” His father responded.

Draco forced his gaze steady as he glared at the oaf. 

“Come, Draco.” Father forcibly pulled his arm as he strode for the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for the oaf to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some _stuff, _all they’d have to do would be ter follow the _fleeing spiders. _That’d lead ‘em right! That’s all I’m sayin’!”

Draco glanced around. _Who in Salazar’s name is he speaking to? Better yet, what is he on about?”_

The oaf caught his eye quickly and then glanced away, “An someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away!”

Fudge rightfully stared at him amazed. Draco himself was bewildered. _What the bloody hell_?

“All right, I’m comin’,” the oaf said finally as he pulled on his atrocious moleskin overcoat and headed out. 

His father, hand still grasped tightly on his shoulder followed after the lot of them. Fang started howling, and scratching at the door as soon as it was closed.

Draco’s mind raced as he tried to make heads or tails of the evening. It did not go as expected.

They first traveled back to the school where His father led him back to Snape’s office and stopped outside. 

“Take heed of what happened and recognize that who you fraternize with and what you involve yourself in affects your future.” He hissed at him and then strode away without another word.

Draco gulped and stared after him for a long moment. Then he turned and knocked on Snape’s office door. A few moments later, he answered the door. He perked a single brow at the presence of Draco, alone, and invited him inside.

He relayed the events in full to him, leaving out the way his father clutched his shoulder until it hurt. 

After he finished, Snape glanced at him thoughtfully. “Interesting.” He drawled out. “Your father only wants what’s best for you.”

Draco suppressed a snort as he stoically nodded his head. It was becoming clear his father has his own agenda. He didn’t care about students dying or stopping the true Heir of Slytherin. He had wanted to get rid of Dumbledore and the Oaf and used the situation and power to do just that. He was certain the oaf had a point about bribery as well. He wished he had spoken up and pointed out the glaring truth that the oaf was just a pawn and the Heir of Slytherin would find another. If the Minister cared at all about the truth maybe he would have reconsidered his decision. 

_What was Hagrid on about, anyway?_

“Draco...are you alright?”

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, uh yes. Just tired.” He lied. “Can you take me to the dormitories, then?”

Snape studied him carefully for a moment before answering. “Of course.”

He led him out into the corridors. Draco stopped abruptly as he spotted spiders scurrying away as though something was giving them a chase. _Odd._ He thought. _Follow the spiders, the oaf had said. _He silently recalled.

An idea occurred to him and he cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure if Snape had been speaking to him or not. 

“Professor, can I go to the library instead? I need to pick up a book for one of my classes.”

Once again, Snape gave him a strange look but simply said, “Certainly.”

In the library, he searched for _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them _hoping that if perhaps he knew what the creature was it would help him narrow it down. If somehow one could find the entrance...blow it open…

He sighed. This sounded like the sort of nonsense Longbottom, Harry and the other Gryffindors would get up to. Once he found the book he flipped through the pages, skimming it as he glanced around for clues. He stopped at a ripped page and blinked at it. _Bloody great. Doesn’t anyone have respect for books? Especially those that belong to a library! _He growled, realizing it was nearing the six o’clock curfew.

Sure enough, Snape was waiting for him at the door to take him back to the dormitory. He reluctantly followed him empty-handed.

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. 

With that loon Dumbledore gone, students seemed to be more fearful than ever. People appears worried and tense. Laughter sounded shrill and unnatural in the corridors.

He wasn’t able to look any further in the library because the professors carted them about and hovered ominously even as they studied. Everyone was in a tizzy about the deceased girl’s funeral. It was all rather irksome.

Two weeks passed far too quickly. While in Potions, Draco, instead of working, stared blankly at his cauldron.

“What is the matter with you? You act like you’re upset about the whole affair. The funeral was a week ago, get ahold of yourself! People are starting to talk.” Pansy hissed.

He glared at her, knowing she was probably one of them. She could never resist a good piece of gossip. 

“Just stressed about the end of term.” He spat back. “I don’t care about some Mudblood.” 

He glanced around and some of the Slytherins were staring at him. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to notice.

He glanced at Pansy who gave him an ‘I told you so look’ with the addition of concern as he straightened up in his chair.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” he said loudly, “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school has ever had. Maybe we will get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t _want _the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long; she’s only filling in…”

As Snape approached, he added, “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster position?”

“Now, now, Malfoy,” said Snape, though he couldn’t suppress a thin-lipped smile. “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I dare say he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah right,” he smirked, “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job. _I’ll _tell father you’re the best teacher here, sir—”

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon.

“The Mudbloods should be kept out. I hope our next headmaster sees that and keeps the Chamber open just in case.” He smirked at the reddened faces of the Gryffindors, trying not to notice Granger’s empty seat.

The bell rang and he strutted out, head held high as though he thrived in the terror and suspicion in the school.

He kept thinking about Granger's empty chair. After classes he slipped away and headed to the hospital wing. 

“Yeah I don’t feel well.” He told Madam Pomfrey as she eyed him suspiciously.

“What is the problem, Malfoy?” she asked in her stern voice. _As though she is actually important. _

“My throat and I think I have a fever and ohhh my entire body aches.” He let out a dramatic moaning noise.

She rolled her eyes. “OK. Go lay on the bed and I’ll get my supplies to check you over.” 

Once she left, he sneaked over to Hermione’s bedside. He sank into the chair beside her and watched her with furrowed brows.

“I didn’t really want you dead. I know you can’t hear me and I’ll deny it until the day I die if you can—-but I’m sorry this happened. Shut up, Granger, you’re still a Mudblood and should not be here but you can’t bloody—you are clever. If anyone could figure this nonsense out…” he trailed off as he noticed something in her hand.

He leaned forward and tried to pull back her fingers so that he could grasp hold of it. _What could she possibly have been holding in her surprisingly firm grip when petrified?_

When he finally was able to grab it, he rolled it open. His eyes widened as he realized it was a page ripped from a library book. _Hermione desecrate a library book? It isn’t possible!_

_“_Well, someone has been wrongfully influenced…” He muttered with a smirk as he began to read it.

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk only flees from the growing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

Beneath it, a single word was written. He assumed it was Granger’s handwriting, further defiling the library book. _Pipes._

After a moment, it came to him. _Yes. It has to be a Basilisk. It makes sense! Longbottom is a Parselmouth and I saw those spiders flee firsthand._

It was bloody suspicious that the oaf had mentioned it. _Did he want me to follow them for some reason? _He shook his head, not wanting to linger on the psyche of that brute. Granger’s words, “Pipes” puzzled him a moment. 

Then it came to him like he was hit with the _Everte Statum _charm.

“It’s Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, Granger.” He said to her. His cheeks flushed red as he realized how absurd it was to talk to someone who was petrified.

_When I followed Longbottom that first night it was right by her toilet, which just so happened to be where Myrtle died after seeing giant yellow eyes._

He frowned, feeling as though a boulder had sank into the pit of his stomach. _I can’t tell anyone this. I can’t get involved. I can’t shame my father—or my family in such a way. He had said not to get involved. _

He was staring intently at Granger’s handwritten note when it came to him. He glanced about for a quill. Sure enough, there was one sitting next to a mirror. 

“Of course! Can’t die if you see it through a mirror, can you?” He exclaimed loudly. 

He turned beat red, certain Madam Pomfrey would rush over at any moment. _Better make it quick, then._

He scribbled down, “_in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom_”, in a poor attempt to imitate her handwriting. He rolled it back up and shoved it back into her hand and with some difficulty. He closed her fist around it, though he was careful to leave some sticking out so they would hopefully notice it. _Potter will at least._ He had far less faith in the rest of them. 

As soon as it was secured, he practically jumped from his seat and headed for the exit. 

“Mr. Malfoy, where are you going? I thought you weren’t feeling well!” Madam Pomfrey called after him in an exasperated tone. 

“Oh, I feel better now, thanks!” He dismissively called out as he hurried for the exit. 

Once in the corridor he let out a breath of relief and sneaked back to his Dormitory.

_I hope they figure it out._ He thought to himself anxiously. He had a feeling they were, once again, the school’s only hope. _Longbottom and Potter pulled it off last year_. He tried to reassure himself. He knew he couldn’t risk his father’s wrath or disappoint his family. _Surely not._ Beads of sweat formed on his forehead at the mere suggestion. 

_Up to you now, Potter and Longbottom._ He felt more anxious and gloomier than ever. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his fear of being caught being included or that Longbottom would somehow mess it all up. Deep down, he knew it was the former rather than the latter but he didn’t dare linger on such thoughts. _Push it all down. _He told himself diligently. _Just like father has taught me to since I was a kid._ He scowled; his words left a sour taste on his tongue. _At least I did help, even if it was surreptitiously_. 


	13. Chamber of Secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 13&14 will be from Neville's point of view.

Despite their determination to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin was; they didn't have any real clues. 

“Here is what we know. Dobby attacks me and Harry over the summer. He says something awful will happen. Then he tried to prevent us from going to Hogwarts again on the train. Then I heard a voice while in detention with Lockhart. On Halloween I heard it again and found the petrified cat and the message that the Chamber of Secrets opened. Then Dobby had the Bludger go after Harry and said that the Chamber of Secrets had opened before. That same day Colin Creevey was petrified. During the Dueling Club we realized I’m a Parselmouth and soon after Justin Finch-Fletchley was the next victim. Then Lisa Turbin was petrified. We used the Polyjuice Potion on Christmas to spy on Malfoy but it turned out he wasn’t the Heir. In February, Harry stole a diary from Malfoy but it was mysteriously taken from the girl’s dormitory. Then...well...Hermione was petrified and Penelope Clearwater died. A mirror was beside Hermione but not Penelope.” Neville sighed. “Am I missing anything?”

“I think you’ve got it all.” Harry said as he pulled off his invisibility cloak.

“You followed us in that thing? That is unnerving, mate.” Ron’s brows were raised.

Neville merely chuckled. “I knew it felt like someone was watching.” He shook his head slightly.

“Well, I am trying to stay in the background. People are already suspicious of all the Slytherins as we are the only ones who hasn’t lost anyone. What would they say if they saw me follow you into the Gryffindor Common room?” Harry explained.

Ron sent an uncertain glance Harry’s way.

“We haven’t much to go on.” Harry said, ignoring Ron entirely. “You did not mention finding out Dobby is the Malfoy’s house-elf and the other suspicious activity they’re involved in. The Polyjuice cleared Draco but I think his father is involved. Not sure to what extent, though.” He sighed. “Other than that—.”

“We have all these clues that we can’t seem to piece together.” Ron spoke up after a notable silence.

“Yeah. But curfew is coming up and we ought not be reckless.” Neville advised.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Harry chimed in with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, shut it. Like we can sit in the library past curfew with no one noticing.” Neville retorted.

“Ah, true. Tomorrow. In the library. After class. In the back so that we aren’t readily noticed.” Harry already put his invisibility cloak on.

The following evening was not anymore successful with clues. They looked in_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them_ but much to their dismay, the page was ripped out.

Classes picked up with a vengeance the following week and it made it difficult to meet and discuss anything. They couldn’t find any new clues to go off of. _I wish Hermione was here._ He thought for the umpteenth time.

After the latest attack; everyone was on edge. One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. _Hermione was petrified and another had died and he seems pleased. _Neville thought, disgusted . 

During potions, Malfoy had gone as far as to wish that it was Granger who had died. Neville hadn’t thought that he had it in him before but now he realized that he was wrong to ever think there was anything redeemable about Malfoy. He shuddered; his hands clenched tightly into fists. He wanted to punch him even as he held back Ron from doing the same.

By dinner the next evening; they found out that Hagrid was taken to Azkaban and Dumbledore was suspended from being Headmaster.

“How could that oaf be put in Azkaban? How could he be the Heir of Slytherin?” Harry had shouted loudly; his face was beet red with fury.

“I don’t know. I--honestly don’t. Hagrid, despite his love for wild creatures, would never…” Neville shook his head.

“It’s rubbish is what it is. No way Hagrid is the Heir. He hasn’t got a mean bone in his body.” Ron stubbornly stated.

“I know. They don't know what they’re doing at this rate!” Harry growled.

“Now that Dumbledore’s gone...especially.” Neville said.

“Yeah. We’re in trouble now without Dumbledore .” Ron said gravely. “They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

Wizard’s weren’t allowed to go to Penelope’s funeral but the day was somber regardless. 

The weather warmed up as summer approached. They tried to visit Hermione but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.

“We’re taking no more chances,” Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. “No, I’m sorry, there’s every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off…”

“Oh, I thought you believed it to be Hagrid.” Harry retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry.” Madam Pomfrey quickly shut the door.

With Dumbledore gone, fear spread like never before, so much that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn’t appear anxious. Many appeared fearful of their own shadow.

Neville constantly repeated Dumbledore’s final words to himself. “_There’s a chance of my removal from the school but fear not; you will find that I will only have truly left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it_.” He wasn’t sure what good that would do him now.

If Malfoy was pleased before, now he was exuberant. Once again, in Potions he gloated. Neville wanted to beat him to a pulp but he knew that getting detention or expelled from school, wouldn’t help Hermione.

“Hurry up.” Snape said at the end of class. “I need to escort you to Herbology.” 

Herbology class was subdued. When Neville approached Professor Sprout about the Mandrakes, she said they were nearly ready. He was glad because he was eager for Hermione to be back. It wasn’t the same without her.

Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Nobody seemed able to focus on their task at hand. Even Neville was distracted.

Neville went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap when he found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and formally stated, “I just wanted to say that I am sorry I ever suspected you. I know you’d never attack Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We’re all in the same boat now, and, well---” 

He held out a pudgy hand and Neville shook it.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Neville and Ron. Seamus was sharing his pot with Dean, Liam, and a Hufflepuff boy named Zacharias Smith.

“That Draco Malfoy character,” said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, “he seems pleased about all this, doesn’t he? D’you know, I think _he_ might be Slytherin’s heir.” 

“That’s clever of you,” Said Ron, who didn’t seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Neville.

“Do you think it’s Malfoy, Neville?” Ernie asked.

“No, I don’t.” He said quietly.

A second later, Neville spotted something.

Several large spiders were scuttling on the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Neville nudged Ron carefully. He turned to him with a questioning glance.

“Look.” He said as he pointed to the spiders.

“So?” Ron asked, twitching in his seat uncomfortably.

“Isn’t that...odd?” Neville pressed in a low tone.

“Oh! Uh...I guess.” He muttered.

“Looks like they’re heading for the forbidden forest.” Neville continued.

“Good for them.” Ron grumbled at him.

“Maybe we should follow them...well, later.” Neville scrunched up his brows thoughtfully.

“Are you mad? I’m _not_ following any bloody spiders.” Ron shook his head slightly. “And neither should you!” He added quickly, his eyes widening. “You’ve been hanging with Harry too much.” He added.

Ernie and Hannah were leaning toward them, listening curiously.

“Why? Do you suppose Harry is the Heir? Is that why I don’t see you around him as much?” Ernie cut in.

“No. I don’t think he’s the Heir. He would never do that. Not all Slytherin are rude like Malfoy.” Neville said a bit forcefully. He turned back to Ron and ignored any further questions from Ernie.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other professor in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant. 

“Come now,” he cried, beaming around him. “Why all the long faces?”

People swapped exasperated looks but nobody answered.

“Don’t you people realize,” said Lockhart, speaking slowly as though they were a bit dim, “the danger is passed! The culprit has been taken away--”

“Says who?” said Dean Thomas loudly.

“My dear young man, the Minister of Magic would have taken Hagrid if he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty.” Said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.

“Oh, yes, he would,” said Ron, even louder than Dean.

“I flatter myself I know a _touch_ more about Hagrid’s arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley.” said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.

“It’s just ridiculous. To think Hagrid is the Heir of Slytherin or have anything to do with the attacks.” Ron continued loudly.

Lockhart answered but Neville was already tuning out the git out. He was insufferable and Neville thought that if he listened to him any longer, he would chuck _Gadding with Ghouls_ at his head.

Throughout the rest of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Neville thought about the spiders and their odd behavior. He wished he could go to Hagrid about them. He’d know what it meant.

Homework consumed their evening hours so he didn’t have time to further discuss what he had seen with anyone.

During the first lesson the following morning Professor McGonagall announced that their exams would start on the first of June, which was a few weeks away.

“_Exams_?” howled Seamus. “We’re still getting_ exams_?” 

McGonagall frowned at Seamus.

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is that you receive your education,” she said sternly. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.”

Neville frowned at the notion of taking exams while the school was in this state. There was a great deal of muttering in the room, and Professor McGonagall’s scowl deepened. 

“Professor Dumbledore’s instructions was to keep the school running as normally as possible,” she said, “And that means finding out how much you have learned this year.”

As they entered the Potions classroom later that day, Ron shook his head, “I can’t remember a thing I’ve learned this year. I’m doomed.” He groaned. 

“Not surprising, Weasel. Can’t imagine you fitting much in that tiny brain of yours.” Malfoy sneered at them.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Neville asked, exasperated. 

“Nothing. Just taking joy in your misery.” He paused, a strange expression on his face for a moment before his lips curled into a malignant smirk. “You should visit your Mudblood, though. Never know. She still could _die_.”

He pushed past them, roughly bumping into Neville’s shoulder before heading to his seat. He and Ron both turned around to gape at him, gobsmacked by his words.

_Maybe we were wrong and he was the Heir after all._ They lacked any real evidence that suggested he knew anything. He had said his father wouldn’t let him get involved_. Maybe he changed his mind._

His heart pounded hard in his chest. He couldn’t concentrate on his classes. At lunch, he tried to grab Seamus’ attention, despite his recent distance, to fill him in on what was going on. Seamus ignored him, opting to hang with Dean instead. Ron shrugged, dumbfounded by Seamus’ change in behavior. 

Neville was about to say something else when he spotted Ginny. She looked tense and nervous as she sat down beside him.

“What’s up?” Ron questioned her; his brows furrowed once he noticed her too.

Ginny didn’t say anything but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a frightened expression. She reminded Neville of someone but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“Spit it out!” Ron said, watching her.

Then it hit him. Her disposition reminded him of when Dobby was wanting to tell them something but couldn’t because it was forbidden information.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” Ginny mumbled, careful not to catch anyone’s gaze.

“What’s wrong, Ginny?” Neville asked quietly. 

Ginny looked as though she couldn’t find the right words.

“_What?_” Pressed Ron. 

Ginny opened her mouth but no sound came out. 

“Is it something to do with the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?” Neville asked.

Ginny drew in a deep breath and at that precise moment Percy came to sit down, stoic and quiet, like a giant storm cloud. 

“Ginny if you’re done stop lingering about.” He snapped.

“Shut it, Percy. She was about to tell us something important.” Ron snarled.

Ginny had already jumped out of her seat as though electrified and scurried off down the corridor.

“This has been rough on her. She’ll be OK.” Percy said dismissively and then went gravely quiet again. 

Ron opened his mouth to say something but the rather ominous stare caused him to shut it up again quickly. 

Ron and Neville exchanged looks and finished their meals quickly before leaving, writing it off for now. They had bigger worries. 

As Neville walked by Harry, who as usual, sat alone at the Slytherin table, whispered, “Meet us at the mirror after classes.” 

He loft a brow at Neville but after a moment he nodded his head.

Neville struggled to get through the day, his mind racing with theories, all of them got worse as they went on.

After classes, Ron and Neville sneaked away from the rest of their classmates to sneak off to the room with the mirror. They remained silent as they waited for Harry. He showed up ten minutes later.

“What is going on?” Anxiety was present in his voice. After he caught Harry up on what Malfoy said he scrunched up his nose, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“No...no way...I—” Harry looked devastated. 

Neville stared at him, fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. “Well that’s what he said. I think we should...keep watch over Hermione, just in case. Got your cloak?”

Harry glowered at nobody in particular. “Yeah.” He threw it over himself. “Can’t get there and stay invisible with both of you under here.”

“It’s OK, Ron get under there. It will be more believable if I get caught. I can claim I got separated from the group and then got lost.” He said.

“Are you sure, mate?” Ron asked.

“I’m sure.” 

Neville and Ron peeked into the corridor and then Ron stepped back and Harry draped the invisibility cloak over him. They made their way out. Neville couldn’t see them so he could only hope they were following.

Neville made it to the hospital wing without any trouble since no one else seemed to be about. Ron pulled away from the cloak once they stood outside the door. 

“You should stay hidden.” Neville whispered to Harry, remembering the accusations made before.

They turned when they heard footsteps behind them and a familiar voice.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, what are you doing wandering about the corridors alone?” She demanded.

“To see...Hermione. We haven’t seen her in ages, Professor.” Neville began, “Professor Sprout says the Mandrakes are nearly ready. We wanted to tell her not to worry…”

Professor McGonagall was still staring at them. Just as he was sure she’d explode, she spoke, her voice quivering slightly.

“Of course. I realize this has been hardest on her friends. I understand. Of course you can visit her. I will walk you in so I can inform Madam Pomfrey I have given you permission.”

Neville and Ron exchanged relieved looks and followed her in. She stopped them a few feet back and then went to talk to Madam Pomfrey.

“There’s just no _point_ in talking to a petrified person.” She was saying.

She glowered at them as she led them where Hermione lay.

Neville frowned at her frozen figure, chills running down his spine. He had to admit that Madam Pomfrey had a point when they’d taken their seats next to Hermione. It was plain that she hadn’t the faintest inkling that she had visitors. They might as well have told the bedside cabinets not to worry for all the good it would do.

“Wonder if she saw the attacker.” Ron mused as he stared at her, his face ashen. 

Harry pulled off the cloak finally. “Hard to say.” He said next to Ron, causing him to jump. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” Ron growled out. “Creepy.” He murmured.

Harry gave a half-ass smile in return.

Neville wasn’t paying much attention to either of them. A piece of paper poking out of her clenched hand caught his attention.

“Look.” He pointed it out to Harry and Ron.

“Try to get it.” Harry whispered to him.

He glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, before reaching over and with some effort, pried it out of her hand. He unraveled the paper. It was a page torn from a rather old library book. 

It was a snippet detailing a creature called the Basilisk.

“Look at this!” Neville pointed at it. Harry and Ron hovered around him. “Murderous stare...instant death. Spiders flee it!”

“That explains the spiders. Didn’t need to follow the bloody things either.” Ron muttered the last bit.

“And why Hermione wasn’t killed. She saw it in the reflection of the mirror, which is the pattern held in the other attacks. Mrs. Norris saw it in the puddle, Colin through his Muggle—-camera I think it was called, Lisa must have seen it in the mirror in the bathroom—and Justin saw it in muddy water!” Harry explained.

“Brilliant! Good one, Harry!” They exchanged a smile, Harry’s cheeks turned a bit red, though Neville had no idea why.

“What’s that below it?” Ron asked, not paying any mind to the other two. 

Beneath it the word, “_Pipes”_ was written in Hermione’s handwriting. Below that there was another note with notably different handwriting. It said, “_Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom”._

Neville slapped his hand against his head. “Oh! That makes sense! The attacks were all by the wall where the pipes run, which is where I heard the voices, and the first one was by Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom! Plus, I think, the day I went to Dumbledore’s office, Hagrid had dead roosters slung over him. Yes, it all fits!”

“Yes! Brilliant! I reckon Moaning Myrtle died in the bathroom so maybe where the Chamber of Secrets entrance is!” Ron added with a nod of his head.

“Yes! Exactly!” Neville exclaimed.

Harry was staring at the second message rather intently.

Neville frowned, “Harry? What do you think?”

He seemed to have shaken himself out of it. “Yeah that sounds right.” He said distantly.

“This also means that I can’t be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin is one too. That’s how he controls the Basilisk.” 

“What--what are we going to do?” asked Ron. “Should we go to Professor McGonagall?”

“Let’s go to the staff room. She’s probably there or in her office. It’s not quite dinner yet!”

“Wait.” Harry piped up suddenly. “Ron you shouldn’t go. You should stay here. Watch Hermione in case it comes after her. Neville and I got this taken care of.”

Ron scowled at him. “Are you bloody kidding me? This monster has hurt Hermione and devastated my family with loss. You stay with Hermione!”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “No. You stay here. Watch her.”

Ron turned to Neville abrasively, seeking help.

Neville frowned. “He’s right. You stay here and watch Hermione. That’s how you can protect her. Harry and I are going.” 

Ron gaped at them furiously but they already headed out the door and into the corridor. They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff-room. 

“Probably in her office then.” Neville stated.

They turned to leave when they heard Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified.

“_All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All professors to the staff room. Immediately please._”

Harry and Neville exchanged glances.

“Not another attack. Not now. Do you think Hermione—-”

Neville found that he couldn’t complete the sentence. “Malfoy—he hinted at hurting her she—-”

Harry shook his head almost violently. “No...Draco wrote the second note about Moaning Myrtle. I know his handwriting anywhere. He left the hint. Why, I don’t know.” 

Before Neville could answer they heard the voices of the professors getting nearer.

“Quick! In here! Let’s hear what it’s all about. Then we can tell them what we found.” Harry said.

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling if hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the professors filtering into the room. Some of them looked puzzled while others appeared to be terrified. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

“It has happened,” she told the silent staff. “A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

Professor Flitwick let out a squeak. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of the chair tightly and said, “how can you be sure?”

“The Heir of Slytherin,” Said Professor McGonagall, who was sheet white, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. ‘_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’”_

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

“Who is it?” Asked Madam Hooch, who has sunk, weak-kneed into a chair. “Which student?”

“Ginny Weasley.” Professor McGonagall said gravely.

Neville threw his hand over his mouth to suppress a gasp. Harry’s breath seemed to be getting rather heavy. Without thinking, he grasped for his hand and held on tightly. A tingle of literal magic passed between them and Neville’s heart started to race. Magic and a strange, tingly feeling washed over him. When Harry and Neville locked eyes, he instantly knew that he felt it too.

They turned away when McGonagall spoke again. 

“We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow.” She said. “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…”

The staff-room door banged open again. For one wild moment, Neville thought it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart and he was beaming.

“So sorry—-dozed off—-what did I miss?”

He didn’t seem to notice that the other Professors were staring at him with something that appeared remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

“Just the man,” he said. “The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

Lockhart blanched.

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” chipped in Professor Sprout. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

“I—well, I—” sputtered Lockhart.

“Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure…”

Neville glanced at Harry; their hands still interlocked. “Are they serious?” He whispered. 

Harry shook his head, “Shh!”

“V-very well,” Lockhart was saying. “I’ll be in my office, getting—getting ready.”

He hurriedly left the room.

Right,” said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils flared dangerously, “that’s got _him _out from other our feet. The Heads is Houses should go and information their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside if their dormitories?”

One by one, the professors rose and left.

After they exited, Harry and Neville stepped out of the closet, their hands finally parting. 

“What should we do? Go get Ron? It was his sister that was taken.” Neville suggested.

Harry shook his head. “No time. We need to go tell one of the Professors what we know.”

“Not Lockhart…” Neville skeptically stated.

Harry scrunched up his face in disgust. “What could he do other than get rid of the bones in my arm again or improperly use magic?”

“Right. Let’s find Professor McGonagall.” Neville responded with an unpleasant sense of Deja vu wash over him. _She hadn’t listened to us last year._

They quickly headed down the corridor toward her office. Neville reached out to grab Harry’s arm to stop him. He let go quickly, feeling like he had suddenly received a shock.

“Wait. She didn’t listen to us last year. I don’t see why she will this time. Maybe this Lockhart bloke knows something. I mean, his books can’t be a complete lie, can they?”

Harry frowned as he contemplated this. “Alright. Yeah. He might be the only one dumb enough to listen to a bunch of kids.” He cheekily replied.

Neville let out a derisive snort and they headed for his office. 

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart’s office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside of it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Neville knocked on the door quietly and there was a sudden silence from outside. The door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart’s eyes peering through it. 

“Oh—Longbottom—Potter—” he said, opening the door a bit wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment—if you would be quick—” 

“Professor, we’ve got some information for you,” Said Harry. “We think it will help you.”

“Err—well—it’s not terribly—” The side of Lockhart’s face that they could see looked rather uncomfortable. “I mean, well, alright.” 

He opened the door and they entered. 

His office had been almost entirely completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, Lilac, midnight-blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

“Are you going somewhere?” Neville asked with narrowed eyes.

“Err, well, yes,” said Lockhart, tipping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and started to roll it up.

“Urgent call—unavoidable—got to go—“

“What about Ginny Weasley?” Neville demanded. 

“Well, as to that—most unfortunate—” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents of the bag. “No one regrets more than I—”

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!” Harry exclaimed. “You can’t go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!”

“Well—-I must say—when I took the job” Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. “nothing in the job description—”

“You mean you’re running away.” Harry growled out. 

“What about all that stuff you did in the books?” Neville added, disbelievingly.

“Books can be misleading…” Lockhart said delicately.

“You wrote them!” Harry shouted hotly.

“My dear lads,” said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at them. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think _I’d_ done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old American warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on—”

“So, you’ve been taking credit for things loads of other people have done?” Neville cut him off, incredulous.

“Oh Neville, how naive you are.” He shook his head a bit. “There was a lot of work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there is one thing I pride myself on, it’s my memory charms. It’s. It’s not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hand slog.”

He banged the kids of his trunks shut and locked them. 

“Let’s see,” he said. “I think that’s everything. Yes. Only one thing left.”

He pulled out his wand and turned on them. 

“Awfully sorry lads, but I’m going to have to put a memory charm on you. Can’t have you blabbing all my secrets. I’d never sell another book!”

Just as he lifted his wand, Neville spotted Ron behind Lockhart, wand out. “_Petrificus Totalus!”_ Ron bellowed. 

Neville and Harry gaped at Ron for a moment.

“Thanks.” Neville said.

Harry, however, glared at Ron. “I could have just disarmed him. Now what do we do with him? Can’t just leave him here.” 

“You just want to be the bloody hero, as always. You Slytherins, I swear to Merlin—”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the Gryffindor who never thinks for himself—-or rather thinks, period.” Harry retorted angrily.

“Shut your gobs! Both of you!” Neville bellowed. “Take his wand and Ron you stay here until a professor comes. Say he was going to attack us.”

“They won’t believe us over a professor, even this lump.” Ron angrily stated.

Neville and Harry exchanged glances and then glared at the unconscious Professor.

“Grab his wand already, git.” Harry demanded Ron.

He glared at Harry spitefully but did what he was told. He pocketed the man’s wand in his robes. 

Neville pointed his wand out as he approached Lockhart. “_Finite Incantatem_!” He said. 

Lockhart woke up, his eyes widened when he realized that Neville was pointing his wand at him threateningly. Harry and Ron came to stand on either side of him, both threateningly pointing their wands at him.

“What in Godric’s name…” Lockhart sputtered out.

“You’re going to get up and come with us to the Chamber of Secrets.” Neville said bracingly. “That’s what is happening.”

“B-but--” He stammered.

“Get up, you useless piece of dung.” Ron added.

Harry sent him a sinister smile. “Or we’ll blast you with another jinx.” 

Lockhart carefully got to his feet. They marched him out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“How did you know where to find us?” Neville asked Ron finally.

“Once I heard McGonagall’s announcement, I sneaked out of the hospital wing. They were likely to escort me out anyway. Then I headed for the staff room. When I saw no one was in there I started for Lockhart’s office. It seemed like where you might go next since it wasn’t likely she was in there with Head of House duties. I heard voices and listened in for long enough to know that he was about to take your memories. Mental, this one.” Ron explained.

“Don’t say a word.” Harry growled at Lockhart, poking him in the back with his wand.

Once they entered, Moaning Myrtle was floating about. 

“Oooh, hello. Who are you?” She batted her lashes at them.

“Uh I’m Neville, this is Ron and Harry.” He said.

“Oooh...you’re Harry.” She zoomed over to him. “I’ve heard of you.” She glanced at Neville. “You too!” She giggled. “What are you doing in the girl’s bathroom? Come to chat?”

Neville and Harry exchanged confounded looks. Ron frowned. 

“Um. We think the Chamber of Secrets opens in here. Have you ever seen a Basilisk in here?” Neville asked after a few moments.

“I don’t know.” She huffed.

“Like when you died, he means.” Harry cut in.

“Oooh.” She hovered over by him. “Well, it’s like I told--well anyway, I saw great big yellow eyes…”

“Where exactly?” Neville asked.

“Over there.” She pointed to vaguely to the sink in front of the toilet.

Neville, Ron, and Harry hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of utter terror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. Then Neville saw it. Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

“That tap has never worked.” said Myrtle brightly as Neville tried to turn it.

“Neville--say something in Parseltongue.” Ron said.

“But--I’ve never just---” The only time he’d managed to speak Parseltongue was when he’d been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

“Open up,” he said.

He glanced at Harry and Ron, who just shook their heads.

“English.” Ron said.

Neville glanced back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it was moving.

“Open up.” He said a bit more forcefully.

Except that the words weren’t what he heard. It was a strange hissing sound that had escaped him. At once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. The next second, the sink began to move and sink, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe that was wide enough for a man to slide was exposed.

Ron gasped audibly at the sight. 

When Neville turned toward Harry, he gave him a determined nod of the head.

“I’m going down there.” Neville said.

“Me too.” Harry and Ron agreed.

There was a pause.

“Well you hardly need me…” Lockhart chimed in with a shadow of his old smile. “I’ll just…” 

All three of them aimed their wands at him at once.

“You can go first.” Harry growled out.

White-faced and wand-less, Lockhart approached the opening.

“Young lads,” his voice feeble. “What good will it do?”

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe.

“I really don’t think…” he started to say, but Ron and Neville acted at once, shoving him roughly down the pipe.

Harry went next, followed by Ron. Neville lowered himself slowly into the pipe, and then let go.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. He could hear thuds in the distance below him. Just as anxiety crept up his throat, he landed on top of Ron. He heard a crack and momentarily panicked. 

“Ron! Ron! Are you OK?” He asked. “I heard a crack…”

“Gerroff me, mate.” Ron groaned from beneath him.

He sighed in relief, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he rolled off of him. Ron pulled out Lockhart’s broken wand. _That must have been the snapping sound._ Neville thought to himself, relieved.

Neville finally glanced around him curiously. They were in a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. The floor was wet beneath them. Lockhart was getting to his feet a short distance away, covered in slime and pale as a ghost. 

“We must be miles under the school.” Neville said in awe.

The four of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

“_Lumos!” _Neville’s wand lit immediately. “C’mon.” He said to the other three.

They followed after him, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor. The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the moonlight.

“Remember, if you hear any moment, close your eyes and glance away.” Harry advised quietly.

The tunnel was as silent as a grave. The one time they heard a sound was Neville nearly tripping over what turned out to be a rat skull. Harry caught him at the last second, shaking his head slightly with a smirk.

“Still such a klutz.” He murmured to him. 

Neville glanced back at him, his cheeks turning crimson. “Yeah.” Was all he could get out. 

Harry quickly let go and Neville straightened up and started to walk again, leading the way forward around a dark bend in the tunnel. Ron glanced between them with perked brows but didn’t comment.

“There’s...there’s something up there.” Ron said after they had walked a good distance down the tunnel.

They froze, watching. Neville could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn’t moving.

“Maybe it’s asleep.” Neville spoke breathlessly as he glanced to the other two and then at Lockhart, whose hands were over his eyes. Neville glanced back at it, his heart beating quickly against his chest so hard it hurt.

Slowly, he narrowed his eyes as much as he could and still see, Neville edged forward, his wand held high. The light slid over a gigantic snakeskin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been at least twenty feet long.

“Blimey.” Ron said weakly.

There was a sudden movement behind them. Lockhart’s knees had given away.

“Get up,” Ron said sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart. 

Lockhart got to his feet--and then dove at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Neville and Harry dove at them but were too late. Lockhart grabbed his and Ron’s wand. He pocketed the latter.

Lockhart held his wand steadily at the three of them. “The adventure ends here, young lads.” He panted out with a gleaming smile as he stood to his feet. “I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body---say goodbye to your memories!”

He raised his own cracked wand high over his head and yelled, “_Obliviate!”_

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Neville flung his hands over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snakeskin, and tumbled to the ground. He watched from the floor as Harry narrowly escaped chunks of tunnel ceiling that was about to fall on him. The rocks thundered to the floor nearby.

“Are you alright?” He called out to Harry as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Just grand.” Harry grunted irritably. 

Neville looked around him, unable to see Ron with them.

“Ron?” He called out. “Are you Ok? Ron?”

“I’m here!” came Ron’s muffled voice from behind the rockfall. “I’m OK. This git’s not, though. He got blasted by the wand.” 

There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!”. It sounded as though Ron had just been kicked in the shin.

“What now?” Ron’s voice said, sounding desperate. “We can’t get through--it will take ages!”

Neville glanced up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now doesn't seem like an opportune moment to try. _What if the whole tunnel caved in? _

“Wait here!” He called out, his gaze on Harry as he spoke. “Wait here! If we aren’t back in an hour….” Harry stared back at him with a grim expression.

There was a pregnant pause.

“I’ll try to shift some of these rocks…” Ron sounded as though he was trying to keep his voice steady. “So, you can...get back through.”

Another pause.

“Neville? Harry? Be careful.” He added.

“You too! See you in a bit!” Neville said hastily. They were wasting time. _Who knows how much time Ginny has left if---_ He shook his head, refusing to think about it.

“Keep your wand on the git!” Harry added loudly, though his voice shook as he spoke.

Neville and Harry set off past the giant snakeskin.

Soon, the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks, was gone. The tunnel turned and winded around. Every nerve in Neville’s body was tingling unpleasantly. He took every step with careful precision so that he didn’t trip over something and fall to the ground. He couldn’t help but dread what was at the end of the tunnel.

At last, they crept around another bend and spotted a solid wall ahead where two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

As Neville and Harry approached, he found his throat feeling like sandpaper. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes appeared strangely alive.

He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

Neville gulped as he grabbed a hold of Harry’s hand. He jolted in surprise, his surprised gaze on him. 

“Go ahead. Speak Parselmouth.” Harry said softly with a tremor in his voice.

Neville nodded his head. “_Open_.” He said in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, and the halves slid out of sight. Neville and Harry, their hands still clasped together, shakily walked inside, side by side.


	14. The Heir of Slytherin.

Neville and Harry stood at the end of a long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with a multitude of carved serpents that rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. It cast long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Neville’s heart was pounding quickly in his chest as he and Harry stood listening to the chilly silence. _Is it lurking in a shadowed corner? _He pondered.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked in a hushed whisper. 

“I don’t know.” Neville returned, casting him worried glance.

They unclasped hands and pulled out their wands as they moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every step echoed loudly off the shadowed walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as they drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself, stood against the back wall.

Neville craned his neck to glance up at the giant face above him. It was ancient with a long, monkey-like face, and a thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Between the feet, face-down, lay a small, black-robes figure with flaming-red hair.

“It’s Ginny.” Neville spoke in a hushed tone that only Harry could hear.

They rushed to her and dropped to their knees beside her.

“Ginny—don’t be dead—please don’t be dead.” Neville tossed his wand aside, grabbed her shoulders and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold. Her eyes remained closed, so she wasn’t petrified.

“Ginny, wake up!” Harry croaked out beside him. “Please.” He had put his own wand back in his pocket.

Neville shook her slightly, silently asking the same thing. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

“She won’t wake.” said a soft voice.

Neville jumped slightly, carefully put down Ginny’s limp frame, and spun around on his knees. He glanced over at Harry and saw had he had done the same. He turned back to the voice, watching him carefully.

A tall, raven-haired bloke was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though they were looking at him through a misted window.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded beside him.

“What do you mean she won’t wake?” Neville added, his eyes narrowing at the young lad.

The lad smiled coldly. “I am Tom Riddle.” He left Neville’s question unanswered.

“T. Riddle...The diary…” Harry whispered in awe.

“Why won’t she wake? She’s not—she can’t be—-” Neville hadn’t been paying attention to Harry.

“Dead? No. She is alive, but only just.” Tom answered.

Neville paled and glanced down at Ginny’s limp form hopelessly.

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing down here?” Harry moved to his feet, eyeing him skeptically. “Your journal is fifty years old yet...you look no more than sixteen.”

Something about this struck Neville and he stared up at him. There was a misty light shining about him. Neville got to his feet and stood beside Harry.

“Are you a ghost?” Asked Neville.

“A memory.” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's toes. Lying open there was the little black diary they had stolen from Draco Malfoy. Neville blinked at it and then turned back to Tom, puzzled. _Was Draco Malfoy the Heir of Slytherin, after all? He has to be, right?_

“You have to help us. Draco Malfoy is down here somewhere. He could sick the basilisk on us at any time.” Neville burst out with a sense of urgency.

Harry turned and glared at the diary and then at Neville. His face contorted into one of disbelief. 

“Draco! You bastard!” He called out; agony straining his words.

Neville’s heart panged for Harry but they had bigger problems.

“Please help us…” Neville pleaded softly.

Riddle didn’t move. Beads of sweat formed on Neville’s forehead as he bent down and hoist Ginny partly off the floor. He glanced over at Harry, who was still looking for Malfoy. He reached over to pick up his wand but it was gone.

“Have either of you seen my wand?” 

“What? No Neville. Help me find the git.” Harry chided.

“Tom—have you seen—”

“You won’t need your wand.” Riddle said evenly.

He glanced up. Riddle was watching him closely as he held the wand out between the two of them, a sneer curling the corners of the lad’s mouth.

“What are you doing? We have to find Malfoy and—”

“_Stuplify!_” Riddle shouted at Harry, much to Neville’s horror.

Harry fell to the ground, rendered unconscious.

“Why did you do that? We have to get out of here before the basilisk comes—-”

“It won’t come until it’s called.” Riddle said calmly.

Neville lowered Ginny back onto the ground. His mind was racing and his heart pounded out of his chest as he stood back up. 

“Give me my wand back.” He growled out at him.

“Like I said, you won’t be needing it.” Riddle’s smile broadened as he leaned down and patted Harry’s robes as he lay there unconscious.

“What’s your angle, Riddle?” He paused, something snapping into place as he recalled that that his journal was fifty years old. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the Heir of Slytherin just as you were fifty years ago.”

“Clever one, aren’t you?” Riddle said as he pocketed Harry’s wand. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Neville Longbottom. To see you. To speak to you.”

Neville gaped at him. “Why? Why me? And why did Malfoy have the journal? Why did you take Ginny, a Pureblood? what happened to her?” He felt like there was something vital that he was missing.

“Quite a long story. But we’ll start with Ginny.” Said Riddle pleasantly.

“I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley is like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?” Neville asked incredulously.

“The diary,” said Riddle. “_My _diary. Little Ginny’s been writing to me for several months, telling me her pitiful worries and woes—how her brothers _teased_ her, how she had to come to school with secondhand books, how” Riddle’s eyes glinted, “how she didn’t think the famous, great, Neville Longbottom would _ever _like her…”

Riddle’s gaze never left Neville’s. There was almost a hunger in them.

“It’s very _boring_, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl.” he went on. “But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply _loved _me. _No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom...I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in...it’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket…”_

A high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him escaped his lips. It made the hairs stand on the back of Neville’s neck. He quickly glanced at Harry, who appeared to remain passed out. 

“Oh, your _friend_ will be alright. For now. A fine appetizer before the main course, don’t you think?” 

While Riddle spoke, Neville kept his gaze on Harry, his stomach tying in knots, a silent fury building inside of him like tiny electrical currents. Then Harry’s emerald eyes shot open wide with terror as he laid there. He sent Neville a strange look and then winked at him before closing his eyes again. He blinked, wondering if he was imagining things.

“Oh, Neville. How rude it is to ignore the one talking to you.” Riddle growled out as he stalked forward and pointed his wand at his neck, nearly close enough to poke him with it.

“Better.” He said as Neville stared at him, horror-struck. “As I was saying...I grew stronger on a diet of her deepest, darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding her a few of _my _secrets, to start pouring _my _soul back into her…”

“What d’you mean?” Neville’s throat felt like sandpaper.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Neville Longbottom?” Said Riddle softly. “Ginny opened the Chamber of Secrets. _She_ strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. _She_ set the Serpent of Slytherin on the Mudbloods, killing one of them. She petrified that Squib’s cat.”

“No…” Neville whispered, the colour draining from his face.

“Yes,” Riddle calmly stated. “Of course, she didn’t _know _what she was doing at first. It was amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries. How far more interesting, they became.” He said. “_Dear Tom,” _he recited, watching Neville’s horrified expression, “_I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and not myself. I think he suspects me...there was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad...I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!”_

Neville’s fists clenched so tightly his nails dug deep into his palms. He heard a buzzing in his ears. His hair seemed to stand on end as energy sparked from every nerve end.

“It took a long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting the diary.” Riddle smugly stated. “She finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. I was hoping that it would be you who found it but instead it was Draco Malfoy. Not ideal but I got it to work. I convinced him it was Hagrid who was doing the bidding of the Heir of Slytherin fifty years ago. Got the unsightly oaf a trip to Azkaban this time instead of just expelled. Sent everyone off the trail so that I could complete my plans.” He laughed in a cold, unnatural way.

“Wh—” His mind was reeling with all of the new information.

He glanced at Harry. He looked tense, still, but his eyes remained shut. There was an almost tangible energy coming from him.

He turned back to Tom. “Why did you want to meet me?” He asked finally.

“Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Neville.” Said Riddle. “Your whole _fascinating _history.” His eyes roved over to the lightning scar on his head. His expression grew hungrier.

“I knew I must find out about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. Momentarily, I was apparently in your grip but she overheard your Mudblood friend Hermione talk about it. She didn’t want to get caught. She thought she had done it, after all.”

“What about Hagrid? You just...framed him?” Neville’s voice shook as he spoke.

“Yes, of course. It was my word against Hagrid’s. Besides, he was hiding some sort of...spider creature here at the same time. It was too easy. I mean, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parent-less but so _brave, s_chool prefect, model student. On the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls. I must admit, even _I _was surprised at how well the plan worked out. I thought _someone_ would realize that Hagrid couldn’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken _me_ five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance. As though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!

“Only the Transfiguration Professor, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed…he never seemed to like me in the first place.”

“I’m sure he saw right through you.” Neville spoke through gritted teeth.

“Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled.” Riddle said carelessly. “I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again end at school. I wasn’t going to waste those long years  
spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps to finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.”

“Well you haven’t finished it!” Neville exclaimed triumphantly. “We got potion to cure petrification of the students and soon more will be made to wake up Hermione!” He hadn’t wanted to bring up the fact that he had managed to kill one Muggle-born.

“Isn’t it obvious? Killing Mudbloods no longer matter. My new target has been you. How I hoped petrifying your Mudblood _friend _would ignite a desperate need to solve the mystery. I knew you’d go through any lengths for a good friend. Ginny had told me how noble you are and how the whole school buzzed because you could speak Parseltongue…

“So, I made Ginny write her own farewell on the walk and come down here to wait. She struggled, cried, and became _very _boring but there isn’t much life in her now. She put too much into the diary, into me. It was enough to leave the pages at last. I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here.” He glanced over at Harry’s still frame. “Him too, for that matter. After all, she also spoke of him and how strange it was that a Slytherin hung out with Gryffindors. How odd, she had informed me with such awe, that he had been there last year when you met the Dark Lord himself.” He trailed off a moment, frowning. “Yes, strange indeed.” He said as he studied Neville closely.

“But you. I have so many questions for you.”

“Like what?” Neville spat out, irritated by his endless monologue. He had no idea how they were going to get out of there. _What if she dies while he’s talking? Is he stalling for that very reason?_

“Well,” Riddle said without pause, “how is it that _you_—a pathetic, ordinary, clumsy wizard with no extraordinary magical talent manage to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did _you_ escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

There was an odd gleam in his hungry eyes now.

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Neville asked with a perked brow. “Voldemort was after your time…”

“Voldemort,” Said Riddle softly, “is my past, present, and future, Neville Longbottom.”

He pulled Neville’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

**TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves.

**I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

Neville gaped at it, aghast.

“You see?” He whispered. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of my foul, common Muggle father, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No—I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day dear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

Neville stared at him, struck numb as he took in the information. Riddle, an orphaned boy, grew up to murder his parents, and so many others.

He finally found his voice. “You’re not.”

“Not what?” Riddle snapped.

“The greatest sorcerer to ever live. Dumbledore is the greatest Sorcerer to ever—“ he trailed off as he saw Harry behind Tom. 

Neville moved several paces to the side in order to get out of the way. Riddle raised a brow but before he could fully comprehend what was happening Harry tried to grasp hold and tackle Riddle from behind.

Riddle wasn’t entirely corporal so while he flickered, Harry pummeled through him and landed on his stomach with a loud thud.

“Strong-willed, aren’t you, Potter?” Riddle laughed. “How much different would it have been if you had been the Chosen One instead of Longbottom? Would we be standing here as foes, or would you have been by my side, aiding me in my quest? A Slytherin as ambitious and cunning as yourself...with perhaps Draco Malfoy, whose father served me during my time of greatness.”

Neville offered a hand to Harry and helped him to his feet, his mind reeling. _There was that Chosen One rubbish again. Why does he keep mentioning him being chosen instead of me? What does it all mean? _Harry interrupted his thoughts.

“I’d never join you. You are nothing. You will never have me and you can’t have Draco either! I don’t care if his father served you! Neville defeated you and you deserved it!” He boomed, a sort of shimmer surrounding Harry.

Riddle stared at him. “Such raw magic in you. Yes. Raw, angry, envious and hurting. You could be great at the dark arts of you only channel it. Not like Neville who seems to be just like Dumbledore, who was driven out by the mere _mention_ of me!” He let out a cold laugh.

“He’s not as gone as you think!” Yelled Neville, a shimmer seeming to surround him as well, the energy seeming to build and intertwine between Harry and Neville. 

Riddle froze. Music was coming from somewhere. He whirled around to state down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Neville’s scalp, and sent shivers down his spine. His heart felt like it was swelling twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached a pitch that vibrated inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock’s and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight toward Neville. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder, and folded its great wings. When Neville glanced up, he saw that it had a long, sharp golden beak and beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Neville’s cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

“That’s a phoenix…” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

“_Fawkes_?” Neville breathed. He felt the bird’s golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.

Harry picked up the dirty, frayed, patched up hat and stared at it intently.

“The old school Sorting Hat.” Riddle said.

Riddle’s eerie laughter rang through the Chamber.

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defenders! A songbird and an old hat? Do you feel brave now, Longbottom? How about you, Potter? Do you feel you are on the right side, now?”

Neville and Harry exchanged nervous glances but didn’t answer. He was puzzled by the help Dumbledore had chosen to send and judging by the expression on Harry’s face, so was he.

“To business, now.” Riddle said once he stopped laughing, though he was still smiling broadly. “How is it, Longbottom, that we have met twice—in _your _past and _my _future—and both times I failed to kill you? _How did you survive?_” He turned to Harry then, “And you! You have been so close, not chosen as according to the prophecy yet as vital. This was not foretold!” His voice boomed through the chambers. “You were there too, in _my _future, an essential part of both of your survival. A Slytherin and a bully. Yet both of you intertwined. Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he added softly, “the longer you both stay alive.”

Neville’s mind raced, weighing their odds. Riddle had their wands and they couldn’t touch him. He squinted at him, realizing he appeared more solid than before. Still, they didn't have any weapons but the hat and the bird. Both of them would be rubbish in a duel. Meanwhile, Ginny’s life was dwindling. He caught Harry’s gaze and he sent Neville a determined nod. Neville understood immediately. _We must keep_ distracting him_._

Neville was tempted to push Harry aside and tell him it was his fight, not his, but he knew that Riddle was right about one thing: they were connected so it was just as much his battle as it was Neville’s.

“No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me.” Neville said abruptly. “I don’t know myself. But I know why you couldn’t _kill_ me. It was because my mum died to save me. An Auror with a rounded face like mine! One who may have been overlooked yet was still great!” Neville shook with suppressed rage. “She stopped you killing me. And I’ve seen the real you. I saw you last year. You’re a wreck. You’re barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding, ugly and foul!”

Riddle’s face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. “So, your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful countercharm. I see it now...nothing special about you. Or your mum.” He turned to Harry, “And your mum was Muggle-born. A Mudblood.” He trailed off. “Yes. Perhaps the three of us are connected. Neville and Harry bonded by the fate of their parents. Neville and I both misunderstood and underestimated orphans. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the Great Slytherin himself.” He said. “Harry and I both ambitious Slytherins who know how to get what we want. Half-bloods yet deeply ashamed of such. Isn’t that right, Harry? Don’t like people to know your heritage, do you? Ginny wrote all about all the complaints Ron had about you last year. How you acted so high and mighty like you were better than all else. Out of shame, wasn’t it, Potter?”

Harry was standing far too still. It looked like he was going to burst into flames like Fawkes on its death day.

“But after it all; it seems that it was by mere chance either of you ever survived me. That’s all I needed to know.

Neville tensed; his body went rigid as he glared at the man. Harry still had not moved. He waited for Riddle to raise his wand but his twisted smile was widening again.

“I’m going to teach you both a little lesson. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin, against the famous Neville Longbottom, the forgotten Slytherin, Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore could give them…”

He cast an amused glance over at Fawkes who sat on Neville’s shoulder and the Sorting Hat that was still in Harry’s hands.

Neville, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and stare into the Stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth and hissed—but Neville understood what he was saying.

“_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.”_

“What did he say?” Harry whispered to him.

Neville repeated it to him and both of them wheeled around to glance up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder.

Slytherin’s face was moving. Neville was horror struck by the widening of his mouth into a huge black hole. 

Harry gasped beside him as they spotted something stir inside the statue’s mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

Neville’s eyes widened in fear as he backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight, he felt Fawkes’ wing sweep his cheek as he took flight. He wanted to shout after him but he wasn’t sure he could have done anything. _What chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents?_

Something huge hit the stone floor of the chamber, causing it to shudder. He could sense the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin’s mouth. Then he heard Riddle’s hissing voice.

“_Kill them.”_

The Basilisk moved swiftly toward Neville and Harry, its body slithering heavily across the dusty floor.

“Close your eyes...he’s coming to kill us.” Neville spoke shakily.

With his eyes still tightly shut, he reached his hand out for Harry’s. He felt a strange static as he stepped closer to him, it enclosing around them as soon as their hands clasped together. Neville could have sworn there was a gust of wind whirl around them. _But that’s impossible down here. _There was no time to reflect on it any further.

Together Neville and Harry ran blindly sideways. He used his free hand to outstretch his hand and feel his way around. Voldemort’s laughter radiated through the chambers. 

Neville tripped over his feet and fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood. Harry cursed beside him as he went down with him. The serpent was barely a foot away. He could hear it coming. Something light dropped on the floor and Neville’s other hand was taken. Even with his eyes shut he could tell there was some sort of light around them. The Basilisk hissed madly in agony and then he heard a crash against the wall. 

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound then right above him, mad hissing, and thrashing against the pillars. Neville could feel the energy flowing through him in cascading waves. He wondered briefly if Harry could feel it too. 

Unable to help himself, Neville opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on.

He briefly saw Fawkes pecking at the basilisk but he had to shut his eyes rather quickly. The light that surrounded him and Harry, was so bright it was like a beacon of energy locked between them.

He could only trust that Fawkes knew what he was doing. Trembling with fear and a brilliant energy, he kept his hands clasped in Harry’s tightly.

“He’s blinded.” Harry whispered next to him quietly. 

Riddle’s screaming nearly drowned out Harry’s words entirely. “LEAVE THE BIRD! THEY ARE BEHIND YOU! SMELL THEM OUT! SEPARATE THEM! THEIR MAGIC! THEIR COMBINED MAGIC!”

Neville’s eyes shot open. “He’s gonna try to separate us!” He exclaimed, still blinking heavily at the light between them.

They clung together as the blind serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling it’s head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

“What now? What do we do now?” Neville questioned out loud. “Help us. Anyone. Help.” He had no idea what to do. 

The light that emitted from them shone just as bright but the snake was not as affected by it without its sight. The snake’s tail whipped across the floor again. Neville and Harry ducked in a strange unison. They stared at each other bewildered. Then something soft hit Neville’s face.

The basilisk’s tail had swept the Sorting Hat into Neville’s face and then landed between him and Harry. Neville broke one of his hands free from Harry after a moment and picked it up, bewildered. _Now what?_ He thought irritably as he placed it on his head. Harry and he dropped to the ground, again, in unison, as the basilisk’s tail swung over them again.

_Help us—help us—_Neville thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. _Please help._

There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it tightly. It fell off of his head and on the ground in front of the two boys. Neville blinked at it for a moment, bewildered. The basilisk loomed nearby.

Then he saw metal shine from it. He and Harry turned to each other with matching bewildered looks and then crawled forward on their bellies, hands still clasped together. Even close up they couldn’t see what it was so they reluctantly pulled apart, both reaching inside the hat. To their surprise it was something metal. Neville and Harry pulled themselves to their knees and grabbed hold of it, together. 

Something long and metal came out of the hat. It was a gleaming silver sword. Its handle glittered with rubies the size of eggs. It seemed to glow with energy. Harry let go of it quickly with a hiss, as though it was burned. The light dimmed and disappeared immediately. 

“KILL THEM! KILL THEM! FORGET THE BIRD! SNIFF THEM OUT!”

Neville puzzled and terrified, stood up beside Harry. The basilisk’s head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face them. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, mouth stretched wide enough to swallow him, and the long fangs lined up, glittering and venomous.

It lunged blindly, nearest to Neville and he dodged it. The basilisk hit the chamber wall. It lunged again and its forked tongue lashed at Neville’s side before he was able to move out of the way.

“Touch my shoulder!” Neville yelled out loudly at Harry’s frozen frame.

Without a second thought Harry wrapped his arms around Neville’s waist. The sword started to glow immediately, a kinetic energy bursting from it like flames. The basilisk lunged at them and Neville raised the sword, Harry partially lifting him to put more force into the weight of the sword. Neville drove it into the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth. 

As warm blood drenched Neville and Harry, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Neville fell, taking Harry with them. He stared at him wide-eyed, once he realized what had happened. Neville gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wretched it out of his arm. He knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soak his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull colour.

“Neville…” He was vaguely aware of Harry next to him. “Neville.” Harry remained a blurry figure beside him.

_“_Harry…” He croaked out. 

_Is he holding me? At least I won’t die alone…_

He heard the flutter of wings swarm past and the soft clatter of claws beside him.

“Fawkes!” Harry said thickly. “You were fantastic, Fawkes…”

Neville felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent’s fang had pierced him.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him.

“You’re dead, Neville Longbottom. And soon so will you, Harry Potter.” Said Riddle’s voice above them. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what it’s doing? Crying. Just like Potter is.” He cackled.

Neville blinked. _Why is Fawkes crying? Is Harry really crying?_ He turned his head and saw the tears streaming down Harry’s face and then his gaze moved to Fawkes, whose thick pearly tears trickled down its glossy feathers.

“I’m going to sit here and watch with Harry Potter and your bloody bird as you die. Now you can see, Potter, the price of going against me. I saw the power held between you and the raw energy on your own. Maybe, then, instead of death, you can join me, Harry Potter.”

Neville felt drowsy. The world spun around him. 

“So ends the famous Neville Longbottom,” Said Riddle’s distant voice. “Defeated by the Dark Lord he and his friend so unwisely challenged. You’ll see your dear parents soon. She may have bought you twelve years of borrowed time but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you know he must…”

_If this is what dying feels like; it isn’t so bad. The pain seems to be lessening already…_

Then the Chamber seemed to come back into focus. _Is this dying?_ Neville gave his head a bit of a shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on his arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound, except there was no wound. 

Harry seemed to notice the same and his eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Get away, bird.” Said Riddle’s voice suddenly. “Get away from him!”

Neville near fell backwards as Harry slid away from him. He stared, perplexed and hurt. _What is he doing?_

As he turned back, Riddle was pointing Neville's wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

“Phoenix tears…” Said Riddle quietly, staring at Neville’s arm. “Of course, healing powers...I forgot.”

He glanced at Harry, who seemed to be searching for something unknown. Riddle smirked as he met Neville’s gaze.

“But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me. Not Harry Potter, who in the end has betrayed you.” He let out a hollow laugh.

He raised his wand and then in a rush of wings Fawkes rushed toward Riddle’s face. It wasn’t quite close enough to hit him but it momentarily distracted him. Neville was wondering what good it would do when he heard a shout behind him.

“Oi!” Harry called out. The diary was in his lap and the sharp Basilisk fang in his hand. “You talk too much, Tom Riddle!” He shouted as he plunged the fang into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted pit of the diary on torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing, twisting, screaming and flailing. 

Then, he was gone. Neville’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and then there was silence except for the steady dripping of the ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking all over, Neville pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he had just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered his wand and tucked it in his robes. He moved over to Harry, who was still holding the fang that burned through the book. 

“Harry… it’s OK.” He held his hand up and pulled a trembling Harry to his feet. He was as pale as a ghost. 

“W-Wait.” He said and picked up the diary and then went to grab the Sorting Hat.

Neville eyed the sword in the basilisk and approached it. With a huge tug he pulled the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk’s mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As they hurried to her, she sat up. Her wide eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Neville and his blood-soaked robes, to Harry and his ink-stained robes, then to the diary in his hand. She let out a shuddering gasp and tears poured down her cheeks.

“It—me—-didn’t—Riddle—-made me—I—”

“It’s OK...it’s all OK. He’s gone, Ginny.” Neville said quietly. 

She had gone white and stared aimlessly ahead of her, trauma stricken. Neville and Harry exchanged glances and then Neville handed Harry what he was holding. He picked up Ginny and cradled her in his arms. They started back toward the tunnels.

Fawkes was waiting for them at the Chamber entrance. They stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Ginny was silent other than the occasional muttering to herself. Neville heard the stone doors close behind the with a soft hiss. He and Harry exchanged glances and then charged forward. 

After a few minutes’ journey up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of softly sniffing rock hit Neville’s ears.

“Ron!” Neville yelled, speeding up the best he could with Ginny in his arms. He was panting too heavily to say more.

“Ginny’s OK! We’ve got her!” Harry yelled out instead, which Neville was quite grateful for.

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he managed to make in the rock fall.

“Ginny!” Ron exclaimed as he thrust an arm through to pull her through first. 

“Careful...sort of catatonic.” Neville warned as he helped transfer her from his arms to Ron. 

He heard a strangled noise come from Ron. They followed Ginny through. 

“She’s alive! You’re alive! What happened? I—”

Ginny’s eyes were open but she appeared to be unaware of her surroundings. The three of them exchanged sad, dumbfounded looks.

“Where’d that bird come from?” Ron asked after a few moments of somber silence.

Fawkes had swooped in the gap after them.

“He’s Dumbledore’s.” Said Neville.

“How come you’ve got a sword?” He asked Harry as he gaped at the glittering weapon in his hand.

Neville and Harry exchanged a look.

“We’ll explain later.” Neville said quickly.

“But…”

“Later!” Neville spoke sternly, a side-eyed glance at Ginny, who remained in Ron’s arms. She had started to tremble all over. 

Neville didn’t think it was a good idea to go into it with Ginny there.

“Where’s Lockhart?” Harry piped up. 

“Back there,” Said Ron with a puzzled look on his face. He jerked his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come see.”

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone.” Said Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn’t a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.”

Lockhart peered good-naturally up at them all.

“Hello,” he said. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?”

“No.” Said Ron, raising his brows at Neville and Harry.

Harry looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

Neville shook his head as he bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

“How are we going to get back up this?” asked Ron as he tried to steady Ginny to her feet. She wavered as she leaned against Ron.

Fawkes the Phoenix swooped past them and fluttered in front of them, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Neville sent him an uncertain look.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold…” Said Ron, perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up—”

“Fawkes isn’t an ordinary bird.” Neville quickly turned to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ron grab Ginny’s hand. Professor Lockhart—”

“He means you,” Said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Ginny’s other hand. Harry, you take mine.” His gaze locked into Harry’s for a long moment.

Then Harry busied himself with putting the diary away into his robes and then tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt. Harry’s hand was like an electric shock when he took it. Neville flinched slightly but otherwise said nothing of it. He wasn’t sure if Harry felt it. If he had he remained silent about it. Ron grasped hold of Harry’s other hand while Neville reached hold of Fawkes’ strangely hot tail feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward toward the pipe. Neville could hear Lockhart dangling below him saying, “Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!”

The chill air whipped through his hair. Long before he stopped enjoying the ride, it was over. The lot of them hit the floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle ogled at them. “You’re alive.” She remarked blankly.

“No need to sound disappointed.” Harry said grimly as he sat beside him wiping ink and slime off his glasses.

“Well, since—well he likes you so much—well, if you died, I thought if you died, you could share my toilet.” She giggled, blushing silver.

“Ugh! She’s grown fond of you, Harry? Wait who is it that—who likes you?” Ron exclaimed.

Neville and Ron stared at Harry but he just shrugged, his cheeks turned crimson.

Neville perked his brows, studying him, but Harry seemed just as perplexed as the rest of him. _Maybe she just meant us, his friends_. 

“Uh so where now?” Harry said, eager to change the subject.

Ron nodded in agreement, his worried gaze was fixated on Ginny, whose tears continued to flood silently down her cheek. Neville pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.

Neville tentatively knocked and pushed the door open.

For a moment there was silence as Neville, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and in Neville’s case, blood. Someone screamed.

“Ginny!”

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting and crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves onto their daughter.

Neville, however, was staring past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing at the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing last his ear and settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder just as he, Harry, and Ron were swept into Mrs. Weasley’s right embrace.

“You saved her! You saved her! _How _did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that.” Said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Neville and Harry hesitantly. Harry walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary. 

Harry and Neville exchanged a quick look. Harry frowned at him as Neville began to tell them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence. He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes, how the spiders had fled in such a strange way. He was about to say that Malfoy had figured out the part about Moaning Myrtle but Harry shot him such a cutting look that he closed his mouth shortly after opening it. He simply said they had deducted it was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom since she was the only one who died near pipes…

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “So you found out where the entrance was---breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add—but how on _earth _did you get out of there alive?” Her gaze flickered between Ron, Harry, and Neville.

Harry jumped in this time. He told them about Fawkes’ timely arrival and the Sorting Hat producing a sword for them. He seemed to have faltered at the point of discussing Tom Riddle’s diary or did he seem to want to talk about Ginny either. Ginny was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. Neville was relieved he left out the sparks of magic generated between the two of them.

Neville had a horrible thought. _What if they expelled her? _His heart raced. Riddle’s diary didn’t work anymore. _How can we prove that he was the one who’d made her do it all?_

Instinctively, Harry turned to Neville at this point. Judging by the look on Harry’s face; his thoughts were along the same lines as his. Neville turned to Dumbledore. He smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

“What interests _me_ most,” said Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Neville and Harry exchange a relieved look.

“Wh-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “_You-Know-Who_? Enchanted Ginny? But Ginny’s not...Ginny hasn’t been...has she?”

“It was his diary.” Neville said quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen…”

Dumbledore took the diary from Neville and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

“Brilliant.” He said softly. “Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving school...traveled far and wide…sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, concerted with the worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do with---_him_?”

“His d-diary!” Ginny sobbed. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year!”

“_Ginny!” _said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you _anything_? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself. If you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic--”

“I-I didn’t know.” Sobbed Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it---”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away.” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” He strode over to the door and opened it. “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up.” his eyes twinkled kindly down at her. “Soon, Hermione will wake from being petrified and she will be fine just as the others.” He added.

Mrs. Weasley led a still slack-faced Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “Perhaps you should go with them?”

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall crisply as she moved to the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with these three, shall I?” 

“Certainly.” said Dumbledore.

Neville right away exchanged horrified glances, while Ron just gaped at McGonagall incredulously. 

_Surely, we won’t be punished. We haven’t done anything wrong! We saved people! _Neville thought crossly.

“You two, I recall, were in an enormous amount of trouble at the beginning of the school year.” He said as he sent a pointed look toward Neville and Harry. “This of course, does not apply to Ron.” He said with a smile. “But as it were, all three of you will be awarded Special Awards for Services to the school and yes, let’s see, two hundred points for Gryffindor and two hundred for Slytherin, quite equally.”

Neville sighed, relieved that the houses were being pushed forward equally, instead of one more than the other. He glanced at Harry and they exchanged smiles. Ron frowned at both of them but said nothing.

“Thank you, sir.” Neville said quietly. The other two fell in line and said it after he did.

“You are welcome.” Dumbledore said with a smile. “But one of you seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

Neville gave a start. He had forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart glanced over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart---”

“Am I professor?” Lockhart said with mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?” 

“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired.” Ron explained quickly to Dumbledore.

“Dear me,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”

“Sword?” Lockhart said dimly. “Haven't a sword. They do, though.” He pointed to Neville and then Harry. “One of them will lend you one.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron. “I’d like a word with these two…” 

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore, Neville, and Harry before he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

“Sit, both of you.” He instructed.

Neville and Harry sat down in the chairs placed by the fire, both looking unaccountably nervous.

“First of all, I want to thank you both.” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again.

“Neville--you must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.” He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Neville grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him. 

Harry let out a derisive snort. 

“Not to say--that you did not. After all, you and Neville both pulled out the sword from the Sorting Hat.” Dumbledore said nimbly. “Read on the sword the name.” 

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall’s desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. Neville watched Harry for a long moment as he looked it over. Harry’s eyes widened considerably and shoved it toward Neville to look. He saw the name engraved just below the hilt. 

_Godric Gryffindor_.

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat.” Dumbledore stated.

“Well, that was just because Neville was there with me.” Harry said quickly.

“We did it together, Harry.” Neville said, staring at him in awe.

Harry flushed red. “I had...chosen Slytherin but I could have also chosen Gryffindor.” He admitted after a few moments.

“I--me too. I mean, not Slytherin. It was Hufflepuff.” Neville had always wondered if he was a true Gryffindor.

“Perhaps, the sword leaned toward Neville, but--clearly Harry has shown some true loyalty to Gryffindor. Perhaps your connection to Neville also has something to do with it.” He sent them both pointed looks.

They flushed and stared at the floor, not wanting to discuss it. Neville didn’t understand what it meant, let alone say it out loud. He was afraid of what it fully meant for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

“Despite the fact that Voldemort had chosen Neville as his primary target; it is undeniable that the two of you are connected. You have been touched by dark magic. Neville in the way of the scar and Harry by the pain caused by his followers...emotions are such a large part of magic. It is why, for example, a curse such as Avada Kedavra, can only succeed if the wizard truly means it. Or, such as Neville’s case, are not protected by the old magic of love.” He said to them, pausing a moment and humming. “Lots of kinds of love. Parental, sibling, romantic, but all binding in magic one way or another.” He continued. “A wand is a channeling of a witch or wizard’s magic, but the true power comes from within.

“Is that why V--Voldemort wanted me to join him?” Harry asked suddenly. “He said I’d make a great Dark wizard. Is it because I’m in Slytherin? Am I dark inside—so my magic...” He trailed off as though unable to finish.

“Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students as well as those who Voldemort chose in his inner circle. Resourcefulness, determination---a certain disregard for rules,” he added, “Yet, here you are with Neville, receiving an award for doing something good. Do you know why that is, Harry?”

“I chose not to join him?” Harry asked quietly.

“Exactly.” Dumbledore said.

Neville wanted to reach over to take his hand but didn’t. He could have sworn he could feel electricity gliding from his fingertips to Harry’s regardless. He glanced down at his hand and then at Dumbledore who seemed to be watching them intently. He turned rather red, hoping Harry hadn’t noticed it.

“Sir, what is the Chosen One?” Neville said finally. “He mentioned it--and again hinted that it could have easily been Harry. I think--I think he preferred it.” He glanced down. “He doesn’t think I’m powerful like Harry.”

Harry scuffed. “Oh, you would rather be told you are probably inclined toward evil, would you?”

Neville glanced up, his gaze locking on Harry’s challenging look with his own meek one. “I’m not like you, Harry. You _should _have been the chosen one, not me.”

“The Chosen One is part of a prophecy pertaining to Voldemort and a boy born at the end of July. However, it is unwise to get too caught up in it. As human will is prone to...change things. Yes, the prophecy could have been about either one of you. Yes, he chose Neville for reasons I cannot tell you since I am, luckily, not him. But both of you are equals. Neville you have powers that you have yet to properly tap into. Harry’s powers are intense because he has already entered those wondrous and turbulent years of puberty.”

Both of them scrunched up their noses in distaste.

“Voldemort did say he and I had more in common, though.” Harry said. “It was...unnerving.” He shuddered.

“That may be, but what defines who you are, is the choices you make and the connections that are intertwined. You two are stronger together but I think you already know that.” He sent them a knowing look that made them both flush crimson once again. 

An elongated silence fell between them. Neville's mind raced as he digested the information given to him. It all seemed to return to him and Harry. They were connected by the prophecy, sure. Yet Dumbledore seemed to elude to something deeper than that. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He wasn't sure if it was the prophecy that made their magic react like that. _Then what? Our brush with Voldemort? Something else was there, too. One that didn't seem magical as much as, well he wasn't sure what. _He stared at his feet blankly, suddenly feeling a heavy, weariness wash over him. Dumbledore broke the silence as he pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall’s desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. 

“What you both need is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the fest, while I write to Azkaban. We need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft and advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?” 

Harry got up and crossed to the door. Neville stood to his feet and followed after him. Harry had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall. Neville and Harry exchanged looks, apprehensive as to who was about to burst through the door.


	15. The ire of the Malfoys.

When the gits didn’t go see Granger right off, Draco decided to push them forward, the best way he knew how. Of course, he secretly hated himself for it but it was nothing sweets and a few pointed hexes couldn’t solve.

Then Ginny Weasley was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. She was a blood traitor, sure, but also just a tiny first year. It was disturbing but he could do little else but wait in the Slytherin Common Room with the rest of his house as Snape explained that they were returning home the following day. He gaped at Snape dumbly. _But Hogwarts is my home!_ He thought. After Snape spoke, everyone broke out into nervous chatter. He sat at the fireplace in misery. _They’ll send me to that freezing cold Dung school or whatever it was bloody called. _

“It’s Durmstrang. Cheer up. I hear they teach actual Dark Arts there. Not just defense, either.” Pansy reassured him when he spoke to her about it. “Plus. I’ll be there.”

“You’re right. Hogwarts is full of Mudblood and Muggle lovers, anyway.” He responded.

She nodded in agreement.

The next thing he knew, Snape pulled him aside and informed him that his father called for him to meet in the corridor in front of the Slytherin portrait. When Draco inquired what it was about, Snape did not answer. He either did not know or was unwilling to divulge that information.

His father stood gravely as he waited. 

“Hello father.” He said.

“Draco.” His father coldly responded.

“Hello, Lucius.” Snape said. “I will leave you to it.” His gaze locked with his father’s as he bowed.

He could have sworn there was a knowing look in his eyes. It disappeared far too quickly for him to know for sure.

“Hello, Severus.” His father greeted with a bow and a similar expression.

Then the dark-haired wizard disappeared back behind the portrait. 

He blinked as he finally noticed Dobby’s presence. He was about to ask but his father glared at him in such a way that he didn’t dare say a word.

“It’s time you fully see the true nature of the menace, Albus Dumbledore, the Mudblood, and Muggle lover.” He said as he led him down the corridor. 

Draco stood next to his father as he violently burst the door open. Dobby, their meddlesome house-elf, cowering behind his father’s legs. Draco took care not to look directly at it. He was far too aware that he was the reason it was wrapped heavily in bandages.

His father’s nostrils flared, fury in his gaze. Draco kept his expression stoic, though for a moment his eyes widened in horror when he realized that Potter and Longbottom were also there. For a moment he was dumbstruck, his mouth turning unnaturally dry and his palms sweating profusely.

His gaze focused on Potter for a long moment before he swallowed everything whole and his expression became placid again. It was then he realized that they were dirty, slimy and bloody. He wanted to ask if they were OK but held his tongue.

“Good evening, Lucius, Draco.” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

His father nearly knocked Potter over as he swept into the room. Dobby scurried in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, with a look of abject terror on his face.

“Professor.” Draco returned as he strode after his father and stood beside him. 

Potter disgustingly returned to Longbottom’s side as he stood next to Dumbledore. 

Draco forced himself to sneer at his two classmates. “Potter. Longbottom.”

Both of them were staring at him with rather curious expressions. He shifted with discomfort where he stood.

Father was far more distressed than he’d admit. Not only were his shoes only half-shined but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. They were in such a hurry he paid little heed to it. 

Draco made a point to be as immaculate as ever despite the quick retrieval. He kept a steady gaze on Potter as his father pointedly ignored both him and Dobby and focused on Dumbledore. 

“So?” 

Draco could hear the coldness in his father’s voice. “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw it fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me to be back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Strange tales were told too. Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Draco momentarily lost face as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock. _No one had said she had died. Only that she had been taken._

“Is Weas—Ginny dead?” He asked without thinking.

Father’s eyes were slits of fury as he glared at him. He clasped his hand down on Draco’s shoulder roughly and discretely dug his fingernails into his skin through his well-groomed attire. Draco dropped his gaze and stared angrily at the ground.

“So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” Father sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“First off, young Malfoy, Ginny is OK.” Draco felt his irritatingly kind eyes on him but he didn’t lift his head. “Second of all, Lucius, we have found the culprit.” He added.

Draco relaxed slightly at the news that the Weasley girl survived. He hated how callous his father was. _Doesn’t he care if a child lives or dies?_

“_Well?_” Father snapped sharply.

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through someone else. By the means of this diary.”

Draco’s head snapped up quickly, his eyes widening. “What? How?” He momentarily forgot he wasn’t supposed to know anything about it. 

He suppressed a wince of pain as his father pressed his nails deeper into his skin. He stared directly forward with a stoic expression. He was acutely aware of the fact that all eyes were on him because of his uncharacteristic outburst. _Great, now I look guilty._

Dumbledore picked up the diary, which now sported a hole in the middle, eying his father closely. 

_Do I even want to know with destruction duo involved?_ Draco curled his hands into fists at his side. _I hate them. I hate the way they stand together, united against the wrongdoers, while I had inadvertently helped the Dark Lord._

“I see…” Father answered slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still meeting his father’s gaze directly, “Because if Harry and Neville here,” Father shot them a shape look. “hadn’t discovered this book, why Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she had not acted on her free will.”

Draco sent the two gits a blank look. He wasn’t sure whether to be upset that they took all of the credit or thankful that his name had not been brought up. He was going with the latter. He made a note to make them swear not to tell anyone he ever was in possession of the diary. If they figured out, he gave the clue he had to make sure they’d never mention it again. They didn’t realize how dire it was to his own survival.

He scowled at Longbottom and Potter. _Irritating prats. If they ever knew what happens at home when I displease father...well, they’d probably try to stick their large Gryffindor noses of justice into it and get me killed._

He quickly realized that neither of them were paying him any mind. He glared at Potter. He was staring at his house-elf of all things. Then again, it _did _nearly get him killed several times.

As he gazed at Dobby; he realized he understood why Potter was staring. It was doing something rather odd. Its great eyes were fixed on Longbottom, who was also staring at the house-elf. It kept pointing to the diary, then his father, and then hitting itself in the head with its fist.

A wave of nausea washed over him. _How much did father know about this diary? Did he know it was the Dark Lord? Did he have something to do with it getting in the school? Had he somehow planted it on Wea--Ginny?_

_“..._imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns. Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what consequences might have been otherwise…” Dumbledore was saying as Draco pulled himself out of his own thoughts.

“Very fortunate.” His father's voice sounded forced.

He looked past his father and noticed Dobby was still repeating the actions. Finally, it caught Draco’s attention and backed into a corner, now twisting its ears in punishment. Draco stared blankly at it, his mind racing. 

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” Neville spoke up before Draco could fully process what he was trying to say.

He watched, purposefully expressionless, as his father rounded on Longbottom.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got a hold of it?” His father spat out.

“Because you gave it to her in Flourish and Blotts.” Potter finished. “You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?” 

Draco’s jaw dropped, forgetting himself again. He started to move aside to separate himself from the accusations, despite feeling partially responsible. His father curled his free hand over his other shoulder and squeezed, painfully, his sharp nails digging deeply into it.

“Quite an accusation, there, Potter.” His father snarled.

Potter sent Draco a look that seemed to both be loathing and pity. His nostrils flared angrily. He despised anything akin to pity.

“Prove it.” His father hissed out before anyone else had the chance to say anything.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at the two of them. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Father stood quite still. His wand hand twitched on Draco’s shoulder as though tempted to grab for his wand. Instead he eyed Dobby without letting go of Draco.

“You see, son? This is why it’s important not to associate with these sorts.” He paused, “We are going!” 

He wretched the door open and pulled on Draco by the shoulder and shoved him at the door. Once he let go of him, Draco resisted the urge to rub his stinging shoulders. 

He winced as he watched his father kick the elf out the door. _Such unnecessary violence, even if just a slave. _He found himself thinking. He forced a sneer, not wanting to appear against his father. Inwardly, though, his stomach clenched in agony at the squeals that Dobby made all the way down the corridor.

As he left after them, he thought he heard Longbottom say something. Sure enough, he approached them once they reached the top of the staircase. Draco paused, curious and apprehensive.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped as he skidded to a halt, “I’ve got something for you.”

He forced an appallingly dirty, smelly sock into his father’s hands. Draco glared at Longbottom, appalled at such a disgusting display.

“What the—?” His father spat as he rightfully ripped the sock off of what appeared to be the diary and threw it aside.

Draco glared at Longbottom angrily. _What an unsanitary insult!_

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Neville Longbottom,” Father said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.” 

Draco glanced back at his father, repressed rage filling him at his comments. He was starting to feel disoriented. _Whose side am I on anymore?_

“Come, Dobby. I said, _come.”_

Draco stared at the house-elf, who was holding Neville’s disgusting, slimy sock, gazing at it as though it were a priceless treasure. He turned, Potter standing behind them now with a bit of a knowing smirk._ He would have something to do with this. _

“Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” Father spat out. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby—Dobby is _free_.”

Draco gaped at them and then turned to his father who stood frozen, staring at the elf. He watched in horror as father lunged at Longbottom.

“You cost me a servant!” 

The next thing he knew, Dobby was shouting, “You shall not harm Neville Longbottom!”There was a loud bang and his father was thrown backward. Draco clung to the railing as he watched his father crash down the stairs three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, face livid, and pulled out his wand, but before anyone could react, Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Neville Longbottom. You shall go now.”

Father seemed to contemplate his choices as he sent an incensed stare at the lot of them and then his gaze turned to him. He resisted the urge to wither before him. 

“Come, Draco.” He hissed at him as he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

Draco sent the three of them a hateful glare. It wasn’t because he was upset specifically about freeing it; house-elves were easily replaced and this one caused enough trouble in its wake. He hated them because until the replacement; he was going to take the brunt of his father’s blame.

He finally turned and followed after his father, doing his best to repress everything deep inside of him, his teeth gritting as he heard the elf exclaim, “Neville Longbottom set Dobby free!” in the background.

His father didn’t speak to him until they reached the entrance to the Slytherin portrait. 

“I certainly hope you learned something from all of this.” He said stiffly with obvious, repressed rage. “People like them, think they’re doing justice when they’re just meddlers.” He bent down so that he was in Draco’s face. “Certainly hope you did not _meddle_ in affairs you ought to stay out of or associate with those who cost us a slave.” He spat.

It took all of Draco’s energy not to flinch as he spoke.

“Did you do it? Did you give it to Ginny?” His wide eyes fixated on the man he looked up to his entire life.

“If I had it would have been clever. Let her take the fall.” He sneered. 

“But father—did you know it was the Dark Lord’s memory when I told you ‘bout it?”

Father stared at him with a strange expression and then backhanded him in the face. Draco touched his face gingerly as he stared at his father with a fearful expression.

“Not your concern. Don’t ask me stupid questions. The monster would have purged this school of Mudbloods and rid us of that Muggle-lover, Weasley when his idiot daughter took the blame.” He paused, a momentary flash of fear flashing over his icy features. “Most importantly, the Dark Lord would have been that much closer to his return.” He fidgeted in a way that seemed to imply that he hadn't known the Dark Lord was a trapped memory. He regained his composure quickly, “Who implemented the plan is irrelevant.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Draco. “Remember where your loyalties lie.” 

With that his father turned and left without another word. 

Draco was still rubbing his cheek when Potter came out of his cloak. He groaned. 

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing, Potter?” He snapped.

“Does he always slap you around like that?” He asked instead.

“Oh, shut up. Hardly a pat, Potter.” He lied. It still stung.

“You’re lying. I know this because I’ve seen him do worse to you. Why don’t you tell somebody?”

Draco let out a horrible, forced laugh, “First off, he has done nothing of the sort! Second, even if he had, who would cross him? Your _precious _Dumbledore? No. He only helps when it doesn’t intervene with his twisted plans to allow students to be put in danger.”

“Draco…” Potter’s voice softened in a way he hated. 

“Sod off, _Potter_. Mind your business.” He turned back to the portrait. 

“I know you wrote the other note, Draco.” Potter said before he had the chance to say the password.

He whirled around; his face ashen. “What?” He spat.

“I know. We know what you did to help. Thank you.” Potter said softly.

Draco’s face turned beat red. His hands were curled into such tight fists that his knuckles were ghostly white. “Shut up and don’t you ever spread such ridiculous lies or I will make sure you suffer in horrific ways.” He turned and barked out the password and entered without another word.

He didn’t hear footsteps behind him so he figured the prat got a clue and didn’t follow him inside.

Once Granger was unpetrified Dumbledore set up a feast for everyone. It was a joyous affair for any Hogwarts student that wasn’t a Slytherin. Not only did everyone glare at them spitefully but Gryffindors managed to win the House Cup again, despite the fact that both houses were equally awarded two hundred points additional points for the bloody heroics of the Chamber of Secrets. _Bloody Gryffindors_. No one seemed to care that a Slytherin had helped save the day. They still saw them all as _evil villains_.

He watched Granger embrace her fellow Gryffindor mates and then Potter who lingered by their table. Draco gritted his teeth in agitation, unsure why it angered him so much. He turned around and pushed his food around in his plate. Mother had owled him to inform him that father thought he seemed a bit puffy and to cut down on his sweets.

“Obesity is a sign of the uncouth; the poor.” She reminded him.

_I haven’t gained weight. It’s rubbish._ He told himself. _Father just wants to control me. Hurt me._ Yet, he found himself questioning himself enough that he could barely bring himself to eat. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been downright sulky since the culprit was caught. Although, no one has said who it was…” Pansy sent him a calculating look.

“I’m fine. Who cares who it was? It’s over now.” He grunted. 

“You hardly eat...you are looking a bit paler than usual.” Pansy pressed.

“I said I’m fine.” He snapped.

She poked her lip out at him, sending waves of guilt through him, but he said nothing. She didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

When they were partially through the feast; McGonagall stood at the staff table and announced that all exams were cancelled. He nearly smiled at that. Other students cheered happily at that. Dumbledore then announced that Professor Lockhart would not return next year to teach. The majority of the students cheered. He was glad that that Dumbledore came to his senses but when he glanced over at where Lockhart normally sat, wanting to witness his reaction to the announcement, but he was mysteriously missing from the staff table. Somehow Draco doubted it was a coincidence.

Sure enough, all Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were cancelled for the rest of the year. Rumours flew about that Lockhart obliviated people and took credit for what they had done. It was far from surprising. There was another rumour that he tried to obliviate Longbottom, Weasel, and Potter but it backfired and he lost his own memory. _That is, of course, ridiculous_. He thought.

He found out his father was fired as a school governor, something Blaise and Theo reminded him at every opportunity. He somehow knew he’d be the one to be the one to receive the brunt of his frustration.

At least by the end of the term, his robes were loose so that was one less thing to be lectured about.

_Perhaps I’ll simply lock myself in my room all summer. _He thought to himself sourly.

He tried to be sociable, at least with Pansy as they made their way back to King’s Cross. She didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong as she babbled on about his and that. All he could think about was the dreaded long summer ahead of him.


	16. The prisoner of Azkaban.

The tone of the meeting changed the moment Lucius and Draco Malfoy entered the room with poor, bandaged Dobby the house-elf trailing behind. It was abundantly clear that Mr. Malfoy was furious. Neville couldn’t help but wonder if he was upset that the basilisk hadn't finished the job. _Did he want the Muggle-borns to die? _He couldn’t help but wonder. _Did he know Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin_? The notion chilled him to the bone.

As soon as Dumbledore held up the diary, Dobby started to act rather odd. He kept gesturing to the diary then to Mr. Malfoy repeatedly and then punched himself in the head. When he glanced over at Harry, he seemed to also notice the behavior. It appeared even Draco had noticed.

Harry accused Mr. Malfoy of pinning it on Ginny. Neville had already been ushered outside that day at Flourish and Blotts so he missed a good deal of the exchange. 

It all started to piece together in his mind. He still was unsure if Mr. Malfoy had known that Voldemort had been the culprit beforehand.

Without proof to prove that Mr. Malfoy was guilty, he was able to freely walk out as though nothing had transpired. Dumbledore’s threat seemed empty and trite. The injustice of the situation irked Neville.

Especially when he noticed how Malfoy was treated. On the surface it appeared normal but he the way his father’s hands remained on Malfoy and the brief anguished expressions when he thought no one was looking. He might have missed it had it not been for the night they caught him being abused by his father. Yet Harry had insisted on saying nothing of it, even now. _How can he stand on the sidelines as though nothing was out of place_? Harry caught his eye and sent him a look indicating he keep his mouth shut about it. Neville had a feeling neither Harry nor Malfoy would back him on it so he remained quiet.

When Neville spotted Dobby get kicked out of the door, something snapped it him. He couldn’t just stand by and do _nothing_. Surely not everything was out of his control. The idea came to him in a stroke of genius, if he said so himself.

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary _back_ to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Neville.” Said Dumbledore calmly.

Harry perked a brow at him, sending a look of curious wonder in his direction. Neville paid no mind to it as he pulled off his horrible, smelly sock, draped it around the diary and hurried to meet up with Mr. Malfoy.

Freeing Dobby was by far one of his favourite memories thus far.

“Neville Longbottom freed Dobby!” He squeaked after Mr. Malfoy left with Draco.

He gazed up at him, moonlight from the nearest window was reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Neville Longbottom set Dobby Free!”

Harry, who had followed close behind him and watched, smirked.

“Least I can do, Dobby.” Neville grinned at him. “Just promise to never save Harry and my lives again.”

The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy grin.

Harry snorted, “I second that.”

“I’ve just got one question.” Neville said as he sent a quick smirk in Harry's direction. “You said that none of this had to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well—”

“Yeah, that's right, you had!” Harry recalled, sending Dobby a rather scrutinizing look.

“It was a clue.” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though it was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Right…” Neville weakly stated.

“We should go...try and possibly catch Draco alone. He had helped and he needs some himself.” Harry said with a sense of urgency.

“You go ahead...I need time to think.” Neville said honestly.

Harry rolled his eyes and headed out after Draco. Neville stared after him a moment, wondering if it was worth trying to save Draco. It seemed more likely to venomously reject anything that was reminiscent to help. He was far too proud for such things. Still, he had to admire Harry’s persistence, even at times it seemed to be borderline obsessive. His stomach did a somersault at the notion, though he was clueless as to why.

His thoughts were interrupted by Dobby wrapping his arms around him and hugging him close. 

“Neville Longbottom is greater than Dobby knew!” He sobbed. “Farewell!”

And with a final, loud crack, Dobby disappeared. 

After Hermione was unpetrified, a huge Hogwarts feast commenced. He had been to several of their feasts but never one quite like this one. Neville didn’t know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him screaming, “You solved it! You solved it!", Hagrid turning up at half past three, hugging them so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or the fact that Gryffindor still won despite him and Harry had won an equal amount of points. Perhaps it was Harry not caring about the cup and appearing to be, for once and as cheerful as the rest of them. Neville decided it was all of those things put together.

Half-way through the feast McGonagall announced the exams were canceled (“Oh, _no_!” Said Hermione). Dumbledore’s announcement that Professor Lockhart would be unable to return the following year followed. Quite a few of the professors joined the students cheering at the news.

“Shame.” said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He was starting to grow on me.” 

Everyone near him broke out into gleeful laughter.

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was mostly back to normal. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were cancelled for the rest of the term. They found out that Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. 

Malfoy was no longer strutting around school. He seemed resentful and sulky. Harry told him about his confrontation by the Slytherin portrait. It saddened Neville that endured abuse by his father but the fact that the git wouldn’t accept help frustrated him to no end. He didn’t understand why he wouldn’t allow them to help. No one seemed more affected by it than Harry. He followed him around in his cloak trying to see if his father would visit him again. He said he borrowed a camera from a Muggle-born but he was quite certain, after Colin Creevy approached him asking if he had seen it that Harry had stolen it. He kept muttering about getting proof. Neville found himself worrying about him and this obsession with Malfoy. It also made him queasy in a way he was unable to define. 

Neville had a distinct feeling that despite the fact that Harry had helped stop the Heir of Slytherin; he was just as chastised almost as much as the other Slytherins. Neville noticed that when he wasn’t stalking Malfoy he was in the library. When Neville tried to speak to him about it, he’d growl and him and throw his invisibility cloak on. _Stubborn git. _He thought to himself. Eventually, he let him be.

Ginny had stopped talking entirely. She often just gazed forward, lost in her own world. Sometimes she’d mutter to herself but otherwise almost catatonic. She ended up going home early. George later informed him that she was seeing a Mind-healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital. 

In no time the journey home on the Hogwarts Express was upon them. Neville, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Harry got a compartment to themselves. Seamus seemed to have either been avoiding them or too immersed with hanging around Dean and Liam. _Doesn’t he wonder what happened? Does he care? Had he gotten too scared? _Harry seemed to think the latter was most likely. Seamus seemed unable to hold any of their gaze.

“Bloody coward.” Harry grumbled after sticking his middle finger up at the lad while on the train.

They quickly learned it was quite crude because Seamus has turned beet red and Hermione sent Harry a scalding look. Harry later explained it was a Muggle gesture that represented a few choice words. Neville had gaped at him but Ron had laughed. Fred and George took to flipping off anyone at the slightest disagreement with a mischievous glint in their eyes. Neville ended up laughing along with Ron and Harry at their antics. Even Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Neville was just glad that Harry had stopped isolating himself and obsessing over Malfoy.

As they headed toward King’s Cross, they made the most of the last few hours they were allowed to use magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other using magic. Neville was getting rather good at it. The only one to come close to matching his skill was, of course, Harry.

Neville promised he would visit the Burrow for sure this summer and nudged Ron to invite Harry. He begrudgingly obliged which resulted in him giving Ron the finger, which had everyone in hysterics all over again as Harry announced, “he was no pity date”. This caused Ron to turn bright red and stammer about not offering dates to blokes. 

This only spurred Fred and George on. They promised that if he came to see _them, they'd_ make sure to make ickle Ronny pay for his rudeness. This made everyone, even Ron, laugh, although his ears were notably red. 

Hermione sent the lot of them a rather stern look but it was no use. Everyone started to laugh again. Ron said, with more sincerity, that Harry was welcome at any time. 

_“Just platonic!” _He had added quickly before anyone else could cut in. This only caused those around him to break into another fit of laughter.

Neville turned toward the window, watching the fields roll by with a rather secret smile that finally, people were looking past Harry’s house and were accepting him into the group.

Neville, despite not having any life-threatening adventure since the Chamber of Secrets, could not visit anyone until at least the month of July. He had no idea why they kept him locked up.

Then, a week before his thirteenth birthday, disaster struck.

They never subscribed to the Daily Prophet but apparently Sirius Black had. He showed up in their fireplace by Floo one evening with a horrible, dark expression. 

Despite being caught off-guard by his sudden appearance Gran allowed him to come in.

“You both need to see this.” 

Neville was eating some porridge when he glanced at the newspaper. He saw a stout, straw-haired man with buck teeth, and shifting beady eyes.

**DANGEROUS PRISONER MYSTERIOUSLY ESCAPED AZKABAN**

_On the twentieth of July, Peter Pettigrew, quite possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in the Azkaban fortress, mysteriously escaped the prison late last night._

_“We are doing all we can to recapture Pettigrew,” Said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, “and we beg the magical community to remain calm.”_

_Fudge has been criticized by some for the mishap. Numerous conspiracies have been circling around the Wizarding community, questioning his allegiances and worthiness of remaining in a leadership role. “I assure you; we are working hard to bring justice to the Wizarding world. My allegiance is to the Ministry and always has been.” Fudge publicly stated. It remains a mystery how Pettigrew escaped the tightly guarded prison. _

_Pettigrew was arrested twelve years ago for killing thirteen people with a single curse in the middle of a street. Authorities took him into custody when found on scene screaming about the fall of, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _

_“He was a fanatic who stood at the side of You-Know-Who. The ministry is doing all we can to find him before another massacre occurs.” Fudge told the press._

Neville stared into the shadowed, twitchy eyes of Peter Pettigrew; the only part of his sallow face that seemed alive. 

“A right maniac he is.” Sirius gravely stated.

“Merlin’s beard! Why does Neville need to worry about a thing like that?” Gran shrilly demanded.

“Well, the Daily Prophet conveniently left out quite a bit of the story. The Ministry has swept most of it under the rug since it reflects poorly in Minister Fudge and thus the Ministry of Magic itself. 

“A few days before Pettigrew escaped, Fudge had gone out to Azkaban for a check-up on the prison. A day later, guards reported that Pettigrew had been muttering in his sleep, “He’s at Hogwarts...he’s at Hogwarts. It occurred to Fudge that he is likely after both Neville and Harry.”

Neville gulped. “Wh-why?” He stammered out.

“Pettigrew lost everything the night you stopped You-Know-Who and it’s quite possible he somehow learned about the recent events at Hogwarts. We aren’t sure how. Fudge said that no one, not even he, had spoken to him.

“What about Dumbledore?” Nan irritably stated, casting worried glances Neville’s way every so often. “I suppose he knows about this.”

“Of course, he knows. The ministry asked him if he minded if they implemented Azkaban guards around the entrances to the school grounds.”

Neville turned pasty white. 

“Dumbledore isn’t a fan of the idea but allowed it. Neither I nor the other members of the Order believe it’s a particularly grand idea but sometimes you have to join forces with those you’d rather avoid.” He said with a frown. “Either way, Dumbledore says that it was time the both of you said goodbye to this place and move into 12 Grimmauld Place permanently. This way the Order can watch both of them at once.”

Neville could barely comprehend the meaning of it all as he watched Gran’s nostrils flare, her lips curl into a scowl and her brows arch downward.

“And what gives him the right to push us out of the family manor that has been passed down from generation to generation for centuries? And to that _place _with that_ Potter,_ who is trouble all on his own?”

Sirius’ face turned red with suppressed fury.

After a few moments, he managed to keep his voice even as he stated, “It is a matter of life and death. And you must be present in the place he calls home as you are his remaining blood relative. You _do _remember the significance, don’t you?”

Neville stated between them, too shell shocked to formulate words, his eyes wide like saucers. _I’m going to live at Grimmauld Place? With Gran and Harry and the Order? Why? What significance is her being a blood relative? _So many unasked questions raced through his mind as silence rang loudly in the room.

Gran had turned a slight shade of green. Her lips were pursed in a severe way and she appeared ruffled in a way he hadn’t witnessed before.

“Yes. I remember.” She spoke hoarsely. “We will pack and move at once.” She said with finality that made Neville’s heart sink. He knew from experience that there was no turning back from that.

Worse than that, it meant that the threat of Pettigrew attempting out to kill him and Harry was imminent. 

Neville couldn’t help but think something was missing. He had been told the story of how his parents died as well as the story of Harry’s parents being tortured by Voldemort followers until insanity. Yet, the name Pettigrew was never mentioned. He had not heard of him until now. _The question is why._ He intended to find out. Somehow. 

_I won’t let Harry and I get killed_. _Not now, after everything. _He tried desperately to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for the comments/kudos! I've already started book 3 so I will be posting that soon!
> 
> Please tell me what you think so far!


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